


Ribbons

by cheapdate



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-12
Updated: 2010-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 50,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheapdate/pseuds/cheapdate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam knows there is a difference between wanting and waiting. Waiting means you're expecting change or a shift in events. He isn't waiting for Kris Allen to suddenly realize he's in love with him, but it's something he's been wanting since the day they stepped off tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Story Needs A Setting

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_ “Gifts have ribbons, not strings.” - Vanna Bonta _

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**NOVEMBER 20, 2009** **   
**

“Kris, no. I’m not coming.”

“Why? Don’t be such a martyr.”

“Because I’m not. I’m not inconveniencing your family like some charity case.” Adam drummed his black lacquer coated fingernails against the dresser as he contemplated what he had left to pack. Kris was seriously distracting him and it was taking all of his self-control not to say fuck it and just start chucking random things into the bag. For as much as he loved clothes and experimenting with his looks, he despised packing. Sighing, he tucked the cell phone between his shoulder and ear to free up both hands and dragged the large suitcase closer.

Clearing his throat, Kris commanded Adam’s attention.

“Seriously, Adam? Stop being dramatic. You’re more welcome at my parent’s house than I am and you know it. You’re coming.”

“I’m not.” He pulled open another drawer, rifling through the piles of shirts in search of something appropriate for a possible night out on the town, should the occasion call for it. If he’d learned anything over the past few months it was to be prepared for anything.

“Fine, but you’re telling my mom you aren’t coming. You’re telling her you’d rather order room service and rent porn in some hotel room than hang here and have a home cooked meal on Thanksgiving.”

Adam sputtered into the phone and tore a hand through his rumpled, blue-streaked hair in exasperation.

“I am not going to rent porn, Kristopher, and frankly I am appalled you would even accuse me of such filth. And for your information, it’s a hotel suite. So, if you would kindly relay my love and deepest regrets to the wonderful Mrs. Allen, I won‘t have to kick your ass. I‘ll send you guys a fruit basket.”

Kris’s laugh filtered through the phone and, despite his current annoyances, it made Adam smile.

“A fruit basket? You’ll be joining us in spirit?”

“Low blow, Allen. Now I’m really not coming.”

Kris sighed heavily into the phone again before Adam heard the squeak and then slam of a screen door opening and closing

“Mom!?” Kris yelled, though his voice sounded far away, as if he were holding the phone away from his mouth. “Ma, are you in here?!”

Adam had changed focus and was lost in packing again so it took him a minute to realize what Kris was doing. As it dawned on him, he clutched his cell phone with both hands, shouting desperately into the receiver.

“Kris, stop. Kris? Kris, come on! You know I’ll come! Kris, I swear to fucking God if you-”

“Hello, Adam.”

Instinctively, Adam felt his face grow warm and silently he cursed Kris, wishing horrible things upon him - a recall of all things plaid or a nationwide ban of cheese dip. However, after a deep breath he collected himself and said in a much softer tone, laying the charm on thick, “Mrs. Allen! Hey!”

“What’s this Kris tells me you’ll be in the area during Thanksgiving? Recording in Memphis I believe?” asked the familiar, warm voice on the other line. “I know you are not considering spending the holiday alone, are you?”

Adam sighed and took a moment to bang the cell phone against his forehead before answering sweetly, “No, Mrs. Allen.”

“Good. We look forward to having you. Tell your family we said hello.”

“I will. See you soon.” Adam rubbed his eyes, vowing to kill Kris Allen the next time he saw him - which coincidentally would be in less than a week.

He knew Kris was back on the line when a fit of laughter met his ear.

“I hate you,” he seethed, kicking his open drawer closed in frustration.

“No, you don’t. Call me when you get to Tennessee.”

Adam opened his mouth to complain further, but the line went dead before he could get another word out. He sighed and tossed his cell phone on the dresser, pulling at the collar of his tee-shirt.

When the option to record over the holiday had presented itself, Adam hadn’t wasted any time saying yes. Holidays were a strange time. With divorced parents, even ones who remained cordial, there was always a divide, always the feeling of being cheated - especially when you knew just how good things could be when your family was whole. It would break his mother’s heart to hear it, but it was the truth.

Since the time he turned twenty-one, holidays became just another excuse to party - going out with friends, themed clubs, all the added fanfare. It was usually a blast and the company was always top-notch, but it wasn’t traditional and he longed for the childhood days around the dining room table, flicking peas at Neil while mom and dad teased each other affectionately over a bottle of wine.

But things changed. Sometimes for the better. Sometimes not so much.

This year, Adam had vowed that things were going to be different.

Drake had a huge, close family and a Thanksgiving steeped in years of love and traditions. Adam had seen no better way to christen his new home in Los Angeles then by having them and his own motley family over for dinner. Neil was even flying in from New York to join in the festivities.

Adam had been looking forward to it for weeks, brushing up on his rusty cooking skills, buying autumn themed place settings and just generally feeling like life was finally as it should be. He was twenty-seven, he was making an album, he was in love and surrounded by friends and a supportive family. He was settling down, and he was content.

Except content, he had come to realize, didn’t necessarily mean happy.

The concept of being unhappy in the face of his dreams coming true had seemed like such an irrational and ungrateful thought. He had everything he could ever ask for and yet, the moment he’d stepped off tour and into his new life in the spotlight as an up and coming artist, he’d been battling an unexpected darkness that no one could understand. No one, but Kris Allen.

The only way to describe how Adam felt about Kris was smitten. Sure, the entire world knew about his crush and physical attraction to the twenty-four year old married man from Arkansas, but there was so much more. From their running battle of practical jokes on the tour bus to their late night ponderings of life and religion, crammed in tiny bunks across from each other, they easily fell into a natural step of finishing each other’s sentences. Adam knew when the laid back, nice-as-pie Kristopher Allen was annoyed or upset and Kris knew when eager-to-please Adam Lambert was at the end of his rope. Together, away from the crowds and the interviewers and the spotlight, they were just Adam and Kris - two guys who only wanted to sing and have fun and enjoy life.

And, ironically, two weeks ago when Drake had packed his shit and walked out, Kris was the first person Adam called as he tucked into the fetal position on the bathroom floor and then later threw things angrily around the apartment.

The root of the irony was that Kris, in fact, was the reason Drake felt the relationship could no longer continue or move forward. According to Drake, Kris was Adam’s crutch. At first, Adam assumed the issue was jealousy, and that, at least, he could understand. Despite being thousands of miles away from him at any given time, Kris was his best friend, his person. He was the first number on his cell phone’s speed dial, the first person to hear news, good or bad, and the first person he called after a day in the studio. It was easy to see how Drake could misconstrue their friendship and feel second.

But that wasn’t it. Or, at least, that wasn’t all of it.

Two weeks ago, as Drake had thrown his jeans and tank tops in an open suitcase with Adam watching in confusion from the doorway, he had muttered, “Kris is straight. Maybe when you stop waiting for that to change, you can try being in a mutual relationship, instead of one that is delusional and one-sided.”

The words had hit Adam like a truck, so much so that he’d literally reeled back in bewilderment. Drake was wrong and Adam couldn’t believe that such a ridiculous thought could even be considered plausible, let alone the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. He’d immediately gone on the defensive.

“Kris is my best friend. That’s it,” he’d countered, furrowing his forehead as he struggled to understand Drake’s accusation. “How could you even fucking say something like that?”

“Your best friend who you publicly admitted to having a crush on?” Drake had snapped, zipping the suitcase closed with excessive vigor.

Adam’s feelings had changed then, from confusion to white, hot anger. The whole crush thing had followed him ever since the moment he’d said it, and now it was screwing with his personal life. In his new rage, he had strode up toe to toe with Drake, hands clenched and chest heaving, fully intending to put him and his bullshit delusions in place. Except, Drake hadn’t been finished doling out his portion.

“Seriously, Adam. Are you happy? Honestly?”

There had been no anger or reproach in Drake’s voice this time, just a tired sort of resigned sadness that came from someone who had fully given up. Adam couldn’t help but deflate, realizing that, no, happy certainly wouldn’t be a way to describe the way he’d been feeling over the past two months, though by no fault of Drake‘s. It was his own issues, his own fucked up and selfish mindset, his own longing for August, or even July, or anytime when he was back with the Idols, back with Kris, back with people who understood and could commiserate.

“I’m not and neither are you,” Drake had said softly. “And you’re not ever going to be happy unless you deal with whatever feelings you’ve got for Kris. You have to resolve it, or confront it, or you’re going to be very lonely.”

The truth was, Adam had grown tired. Drake had grown tired. Despite the fact that his accusations had been completely ridiculous, there was no way things could continue, no way things could improve. There had also been no use arguing. It was over.

So, as much as it had pained him to do so, Adam had bit down on the inside of his cheek, hard, to keep his emotions in check and hoisted the suitcase off the bed, slinging the strap over his shoulder. He didn’t need to answer Drake’s question. The fact that he was not only letting him go, but helping him leave was enough of an indication of his feelings.

They didn’t speak until they were standing outside of Adam’s home in Los Angeles; the first thing he’d purchased after tour, the first material thing he’d wanted. Adam had pushed Drake‘s suitcase unceremoniously into the backseat of his modest Camry then stood, shifting awkwardly on his feet and staring down at the driveway.

“Call me sometime, if you’re not too busy being a huge, famous music icon,” Drake had said, his mouth attempting and failing at a genuine smile.

Adam had run a hand through his hair, not caring that a slick of gel coated his palm and made his fingers stick together.

“Ok.”

And then they had both sort of nodded, accepting that things were over. Drake had gotten into his car and pulled out of the driveway, leaving Adam standing on the black asphalt, no longer able to cling to the claim that he was at least content.

Adam hadn’t realized just how much he’d relied on Drake to maintain the contentment he’d found. Drake had kept him tethered to reality, as a link to his old life and a constant in his new one. So he had surprised himself when he calmly walked back up to the house, through the front door and stumbled down the hallway as his vision became oddly blurry until he reached the bathroom. He had closed the door behind him, even though he was, painfully, the only one in the house, then slid down with his back against the door until his butt reached the floor. He pulled his legs up to his chest and hung his head, letting the tears come; a diluted trail of black makeup running down his cheeks and dripping off his chin, onto his shirt.

Still breathless and sniffling, he’d reached into the pocket of his jeans and slid out his cell phone. In a childish and entirely immature gesture, he flipped the phone open and scrolled down through the names in his address book until he got to the ‘D’s’. He hesitated, his finger hovering over the button, then with a sigh he deleted Drakes name. Feeling nowhere near as satisfied as he thought the act might make him feel, he had continued down the names, stopping when he reached the ‘K’s’. This time there was no hesitation. As soon as Kris’s name appeared on the screen, he’d pressed the call button, wiping at his eyes with the back of his free hand.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d spent on the floor of the bathroom, talking to Kris - about Drake, about music, about the speed at which one must eat Fruity Pebbles before they become an unappetizing, milk-logged mush - but by the time they hung up, Adam had uncoiled himself from his fetal position against the door and the small rectangular window above the shower revealed a dark and starless California night sky.

He had felt better - not healed - but bandaged at least and although he’d bounced between bearing his soul and sharing frivolous cereal preferences with Kris, one topic had not been truthfully aired out - Drake’s ultimate reason for leaving. He claimed Drake left on the grounds that life in the spotlight just wasn’t for him then quickly changed the subject.

It was the very first time he had ever blatantly lied to Kris. He’d told himself he wasn’t even going to bother entertaining the ridiculous accusation long enough to explain it, but in reality it scared him and he didn’t know why. The rationalization that he just didn’t want to make Kris feel uncomfortable did hold _some_ truth, but it wasn’t _the_ truth.

So, when he’d moved to the next stage of grief - anger - it was coupled with self-disgust and an unshakable panic. Throwing shit around the apartment helped, as did four pints of Breyer’s Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream, but eventually exhaustion and then acceptance helped him to get his emotions in check. It was easy to convince himself that Drake was wrong, that he had lied to Kris selflessly and that life would go on.

For the days that followed, Kris had called him regularly, and although it was often under the ruse of needing to know a producers name or which brand of cologne would best suit him, Adam knew he was just being checked up on. Not that he minded. Talking to Kris became the highlight of his day, again; the way their chats on the tour bus after a show had once been.

Two weeks before Thanksgiving, a month after Drake had left, Adam was offered the opportunity to record in Memphis over the long weekend. Seeing as he no longer had plans, nor wished to make any on the now tainted holiday, he took the opportunity and booked a room. Kris, however, had other ideas and suggested, or rather demanded, that Adam spend Thanksgiving with his family in Conway, a drive that would take less than three hours from his hotel.

Adam had put up a valiant effort, outright refusing, and when that yielded no results, trying to politely decline. His attempts were thwarted by Kris’s persistence. Eventually, he resigned himself to the fact that he would be spending the holiday with the Allens, and although he acted less than thrilled, he was actually looking forward to seeing Kris for an extended period of time. With the both of them so busy lately, bi-weekly phone calls and the occasional dinner and drinks was usually the best they could manage.

Sighing, Adam sat on the top of his suitcase, squishing down the contents so that he could pull the zipper closed. Then he lugged it out into the foyer where his other luggage waited. Not more than fifteen seconds later, there was a honk announcing the arrival of the car to take him to the airport.

He glanced around quickly, at nothing in particular, a sort of silent goodbye. Had he known how much things were about to change, he might have done something more profound. Instead, he hoisted his bags up onto his shoulders, gripped the cool silver doorknob and walked out, leaving behind more than he could ever have imagined.

 

 

 

 

Adam stepped out of the green Ferrari in a pair of dark blue jeans that hung low on his hips, tucked into an untied pair of black boots. A tight black tee-shirt hugged his torso beneath a light grey hoodie, and his hair was without product, feathery and mussed from habitually running his fingers through it. He pulled off his aviator sunglasses and grinned at Kris who was coming down the front porch steps beaming.

“You’re here!”

“I’m here,” Adam echoed, rolling his eyes, but opening his arms wide.

Kris crashed into him, hugging so tightly that the air rushed out of Adam’s lungs. He squeezed his arms around Adam’s middle then pulled back and shook his shoulders enthusiastically.

“Upgrade?” he asked, pointing a thumb at the car as he released Adam from his grip.

“Rental,” Adam answered, spinning the key ring around his index finger. “I figured I might as well go big.”

He moved around to the trunk and popped the latch.

“You’re in Arkansas. A Jetta would have been big.” Kris laughed as he reached for one of the two medium-sized suitcases Adam pulled out of the trunk.

Taking the other himself, Adam offered Kris a lop-sided grin in thanks and a shrug then roped his free arm around Kris’s shoulders.

“How was the ride?” Kris asked as they started up the front walk.

“Not bad. Oh, wait!” Adam spun away from Kris and jogged back over to the car, opening the driver’s side door and leaning in. He retrieved what he had forgotten and returned to where Kris stood waiting, watching him curiously.

“Here. I couldn’t come empty-handed.” He handed the green bottle in his hand to Kris, who took it and spun it so he could see the label, brushing away the gold ribbon tied around the neck.

“Dom Perignon?” Kris read out loud, raising his eyebrows. “Adam, you didn’t have to do this. I thought you said you were bringing a fruit basket.”

“I said I would _send_ a fruit basket, assuming I spent the holiday with room service and porn, remember? And it’s for your parents, not you, anyway.” Adam playfully pulled the bottle out of Kris’s hand and followed him up the front steps and into the house.

“My mom’s in the kitchen cooking. She sent Katy and my dad out for wine and dessert, but I think she just wanted them out of the house. You can put your stuff in the guest bedroom,” Kris said, shifting Adam’s suitcase strap to the other shoulder.

Adam nodded and motioned for Kris to lead the way.

Kris had a small studio apartment in The Valley, about forty minutes from Adam’s place in West Hollywood. It was his base when recording in L.A., though he rarely spent more than a single night there at any given time. For the most part ‘home’ was in Conway, Arkansas. While things were still crazy with the album and studio time all over the globe, he and Katy moved in with Kris’s parents. It was the easiest solution and he liked the idea of Katy not being alone all the time. They planned on settling permanently in California once the craziness died down, but for the time being Katy could keep her job and Kris could hop from studio to studio without worrying about real estate shopping or the logistics of making house payments.

The Allen’s owned a modest home with mismatched furniture and family photos lining the walls of the hallway. Every table and shelf held frames and knickknacks, though somehow it didn’t look cluttered. It was everything a home should be - lived in, warm, personalized. It was nothing like Adam’s monstrous split level back in Cali, where he’d barely had time to pick out a bed let alone choose matching drapes and hang pictures, though one day he wanted to. He wanted a home, not just a house and sadly, that was all he had right now. A Home had very little to do with purchasing material possessions and more to do with the people living in it. For now, that was him, alone, and the foreseeable future didn’t show that changing anytime soon.

“In here,” Kris said, opening the last door at the end of the hallway.

The guest room was humble at best. The bedspread matched the carpet in a light blue color scheme, offset by light grey walls and stripe patterned curtains. There was a day bed pressed up against the farthest wall, flanked by a white wicker chair and nightstand, and a dresser next to the closet on the left. Save for a small ceramic lamp on the nightstand, the room was illuminated by natural light, filtering in through two East-facing windows.

"I'm sorry. It's not the penthouse at the Hilton, but the sheets are pretty comfy." Kris dropped Adam's bag on the bed and jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, looking around the room sheepishly.

"It's great," Adam assured him, and it was. It was warm and homey and lived in. He wouldn‘t ever admit it outright, but it beat the hell out of even the most upscale, generic hotel room.

It was quiet for a moment, and although the atmosphere wasn't uncomfortable, something certainly felt off. After months crammed into the tour bus and holed up in hotel rooms, being in Kris's childhood home was a completely different experience. There was a completely new set of rules and boundaries and etiquettes, the differences highlighted by the inclusion of Katy and his parents.

"I'm really glad you came." Kris was looking at him, smiling, and it was infectious.

“I’m glad I came too,” Adam answered.

Again, they stared at each other in silence, until an enthusiastic voice and blur of blonde entered the room, causing them both to jump.

“Adam!”

Katy wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek, hopping up on her tip-toes to reach. Laughing, Adam hugged her around the waist, lifting her up off her feet.

“Oh my gosh, Kris!” Kris imitated Katy with mock bitterness, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, hush, you!” she teased, linking arms with Adam. “I see you all the time.”

Kris rolled his eyes while Katy redirected her attention to Adam, chattering on in some strange fashion conscious language that went right over Kris’s head. He let them talk for a few minutes while he sat on the bed, feigning interest, before stepping in and interrupting, even though Adam was genuinely enjoying the conversation.

“Come on, let’s go,” Kris said, tugging Adam by the arm while Katy pouted comically. “If my mom finds out you’re here and haven’t said hello yet, you’d better hope she hasn’t got the baster in hand.”

Adam wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and winked at Katy who giggled while a blush crept up Kris’s neck.

“Oh, just come on you perv.” Kris pulled Adam from the room, shaking his head, his cheeks a deep shade of crimson.

When they entered the kitchen, Mrs. Allen was facing the stove with her back to the doorway. Adam had been hit with the aromas of cooking turkey and sweet yams as soon as he’d stepped into the house, but in close proximity the smells were positively mouth-watering.

Kris looked at him and pressed a finger against his lips, signaling for him to be quiet. Adam grinned, shaking his head in warning, but Kris ignored him and tip-toed silently up behind Mrs. Allen.

“Mom!” Kris yelled, grabbing his mother by the shoulders so that she shrieked, spinning around and slapping him in the arm with a wooden spoon.

“Kristopher Neil Allen, what in God’s name is wrong with you?”

Kris’s eyes flashed to Adam’s as he shrugged and grinned sheepishly, and Adam felt something odd pull in his chest. Ignoring it, he stepped forward, hoping to put out the flame.

“Mrs. Allen!” he gushed, crossing the kitchen and embracing her in the same way he had done Katy, lifting her up off her feet so that she giggled like a teenager.

Again, Kris crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes, clearly the only one unimpressed with Adam’s charm.

“Oh, honey, we are so happy you’re here!” she fawned, stepping back and giving him a once over. “And you’re looking so good!”

“Ma, please!” Kris groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

“Be quiet, Kristopher. Adam’s my son just as much as you are, and, actually, after that little stunt you pulled you’d better hope no one makes me choose favorites.” She winked at Adam while Kris continued to shake his head.

“Did someone say something about favorites?” Kris’s dad came into the kitchen balancing two bottles of wine on top of a white pastry box.

Adam moved to help him, taking the items from his arms and placing them on the counter, before turning to politely greet him.

“Hello, Mr. Allen.”

“Hey, Adam.” Mr. Allen stuck a hand out, but when Adam grabbed it, he pulled him into a rough hug. “Good to see you.”

“Thanks for having me,” Adam said, laughing.

“Kristopher Neil!” They both turned to see Mrs. Allen swatting Kris away from a pot on the stove, a lump of mashed potatoes on his index finger which he promptly popped into his mouth.

“Ok, all of you out! Out, out, out!” Mrs. Allen was attempting seriousness, but fighting a smile. “Dinner will be ready at six.”

Laughing, the boys followed her orders and headed out into the living room to relax and watch television until it was time to eat.

 

 

 

 

Adam’s beliefs we’re always transient. He figured it was because he was still trying to find something he could fully and unconditionally affiliate with. Undoubtedly, there was a higher power, even if only in the form of energy and light, but how much control, if any, this had on one’s life was still a mystery to him. The only ill will Adam held towards those secure in their religion was a slight jealousy that they had found something they could invest their beliefs in without question.

So, when Mr. Allen said Grace, it was the same as if Adam were hearing the Gettysburg Address. He politely dipped his head, hearing the words objectively. He didn’t miss the way Kris glanced up from beneath his lashes and offered him a small smile and shrug from across the table, but it was unnecessary. Adam was much more comfortable knowing they weren’t catering to him then he would be if they’d changed their traditions based on his inclusion.

“So, Adam, are you ready for that album release?” Mr. Allen asked, passing the cranberry sauce to him.

“I think so,” Adam answered, taking the bowl. “I mean, can anyone really be ready? I think I‘ll just be happy knowing it‘s done and we can‘t make any more changes.”

“Oh please,” Kris scoffed, piling mashed potatoes onto his plate. “You’re going to be amazing. The album is going to be amazing.” He turned his attention to his father, his eyes wide with excitement. “I’ve heard some of the tracks. It’s really something else.”

“Kris,” Adam said, waving his hand to silence him. “Please, if my album sells half as well as yours in the first week, I’ll be thrilled.”

Kris bit his lip and grinned, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

“Well, you did help out when I needed someone to bounce ideas off of. And you put up with my three a.m. phone calls when I was convinced it was all going to crash and burn.”

Katy leaned over and poked Kris in the side.

“Excuse me, but when you’re done falling all over each other, could you please pass the gravy, Kris?” she teased.

Everyone laughed and Kris grabbed the boat, demanding a kiss on the cheek before he’d hand it over.

It made Adam feel odd. He couldn‘t exactly define the reason why he felt compelled to look away, so he rationalized that it was a private moment.

If he was being honest, everything felt a bit strange at the moment. As conversation flowed and laughter came easy, usually at the expense of someone sitting around the table, he couldn’t help but mourn his previous Thanksgiving plans. Besides just spending it with Drake, he was going to be spending it with family - settling down and creating new traditions. He was incredibly grateful to the Allens for having him, but the fact that he was a guest remained. This wasn’t his family.

Although, as he looked across the table at Kris, he found a pair of soft brown eyes looking back at him and for a fleeting, terrifying second he wondered if maybe one day it could be, before he repressed the thought and forced a giant piece of cornbread into his mouth. He was just melancholy and nostalgic he assured himself.

After dinner, and thanking Mrs. Allen profusely, he and Kris did the dishes. Kris was up to his elbows in soap and water while Adam stood by with a dishtowel, ready to do the drying. They laughed, Kris splashing Adam over his shoulder while Adam pretended to lose his grip on Mrs. Allen’s prized, antique gravy boat. It was odd to be doing something so domestic after living out of suitcases for months together, but comfortable. When everything had been cleaned and the kitchen was spotless, Kris leaned back against the counter while Adam collapsed, tired and full, into one of the dining room chairs.

“I’m glad you came,” Kris said, rolling his sleeves back down over his forearms.

“I’m glad I came too. I guess this does beat staying in a hotel, even if there is no porn,” Adam grumbled, smirking at the end.

Kris cocked an eyebrow.

“Who says there’s no porn? You do know this is where I lived when I was fourteen. The farthest floorboard in the guestroom closet is still loose, you know.”

Cringing, Adam ran a hand through his hair.

“Oh. Oh! Right.” Kris blushed and scratched the back of his neck, looking at the floor. “Probably nothing you’d be interested in. Well, too bad, you already admitted that being here is better.” He looked up, and even though his cheeks burned red, he smiled.

Something in Adam’s chest fluttered. How he’d ever ended up with a friend like Kris, he’d never know, but if anything reaffirmed his beliefs that there was something out there - fate, Ra, Xenu, a six-headed woman playing Russian roulette with people’s lives, anything - it was the unlikely relationship that he had formed with the unassuming Kris Allen in the most unlikely place.

“So, listen.” Kris was looking at the floor again, scraping at the tile with the toe of his sneaker. “After everything gets cleaned up, it’s kind of a tradition that I play.”

“Play?” Adam asked, thankful to have been included in the festivities, but not entirely sure he could handle family game night.

“Yeah. The guitar. And sing, too, I guess. My mom sort of looks forward to it.”

Grinning, Adam nodded. There were few things he enjoyed better than watching Kris perform, and lately it had become a rarity.

“I’m warning you now, they’ll try and rope you into singing too. You can say no, though. Don’t feel like you have to.”

Adam couldn’t help but laugh. Reporters and paparazzi be damned, it would be Mrs. Allen to bring him to his knees.

“I think I can handle it.”

Kris raised his eyebrows and shrugged as though he didn’t believe him, and even if Adam would never admit it out-right, Mrs. Allen could probably be more frightening then even the most aggressive gang of paparazzi if she really wanted to be. It was one of those intrinsic qualities women were gifted with when they became mothers.

Kris put on a pot of coffee and they left it brewing in the kitchen to rejoin the rest of the Allen family sitting in the living room.

Right away, Adam saw that Kris hadn’t been kidding. Mrs. Allen was holding his guitar on her lap grinning and practically vibrating with excitement. Mr. Allen, on the other hand, was sitting on the couch and leaning anxiously over his knees, waving his hands at the television. Katy was next to him with her legs tucked up under her body, laughing as she pulled her hair into a ponytail.

A whistle was blown and Mr. Allen groaned.

“Do you watch any football, Adam?” he asked, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

“No, not really,” Adam answered, shooting a sideways glance at Kris who snickered as he moved past.

Mr. Allen nodded.

“Good. More stress than it’s worth.” He leaned forward, grabbed the remote up off the coffee table and clicked the set off.

Mrs. Allen stood and Kris reached out to grab the guitar from her, taking the loveseat as she moved to sit on the couch next to her husband. Adam simply sank down onto the carpet, crossing his legs and leaning back against the coffee table.

Kris played for almost an hour, singing whatever came to mind. Sometimes it was a song in its entirety, sometimes it was just a few lines and the chorus. Adam found himself joining in quietly when he recognized the tune, much to Katy and Mrs. Allen’s delight, and they harmonized easily, without missing a beat.

“Alright, one more,” Kris said finally, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand.

“A duet?” his mother asked hopefully, nodding towards Adam. “Maybe one of your new songs? Oh, Kris, do one of your new songs with Adam!”

“Ma, Adam doesn’t know my songs.” Kris shook his head and rolled his eyes at Adam who cocked an eyebrow curiously.

“Oh, I’m sure he does. They’ve been on the radio!”

Kris sighed, his cheeks turning pink.

“One of them has been on the radio and the album has only been out a week!”

“Oh, alright,” she sighed, leaning forward and patting Adam on the knee. “He’s off the hook for now.”

Adam shrugged and breathed a sigh of relief, but not because he didn’t have to sing. It would have been far worse to admit that, yes, he did know all of Kris’s songs - every single line - and yes, the album had only been out for a week. Immediately, he reminded himself that he’d helped Kris out on the album quite a bit, so it shouldn’t have been surprising that he was familiar with the words. He had even heard a few of the songs that didn’t make the cut. Except, he knew every lyric of those too.

“Ok, how about something festive? You know, to kick off the holiday season?” Kris suggested, adjusting one of the tuners.

The offer seemed to appease Mrs. Allen, and Katy nodded enthusiastically.

Kris cleared his throat and ducked his head, biting his lower lip in concentration just as he always did before beginning to play. Adam swallowed and forced his eyes down to his lap.

It was a classic, Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, and though he didn’t celebrate the holiday, Adam was familiar with most of the words. He didn’t join in though, just concentrated on Kris voice, taking in every inflection and riff.

_“Through the years we all will be together,  
If the fates allow, yeah,  
But ‘til then we’ll have to muddle through somehow.”_

Adam could feel Kris’s eyes on him so he looked up, and when he did he saw a desperate intensity in them that he wasn’t expecting. It made his heartbeat stutter suddenly and for some reason, he held his breath. The sound of his pulse pounded in his ears, competing with Kris’s sultry voice.

The strength of the stare was crushing, and Adam had to look away to get his bearings. Quickly, he looked down, then back up again, forcing his lips into a small smile. Kris didn’t return it and suddenly he realized Kris wasn’t looking at him, he was looking past him.

Adam glanced over his shoulder and saw Katy sitting on the couch behind him. Her hands were clasped under her chin and her face was glowing, her eyes gleaming with emotion.

His tongue felt thick as he swallowed and pulled his eyes away, back to Kris who was now looking down at his fingers as they moved along the guitar strings.

Kris was looking at Katy, not him.

He would have bet his Mustang on the fact that Kris had been looking at him, right at him, but the longer he wrestled the probability in his head, the more ridiculous it seemed. The emotion contained in his eyes wouldn’t be meant for Adam. It would be meant for his wife. It would be meant for Katy.

It shouldn’t have made him feel as uncomfortable as it did, nor should he have reacted in such a way even if Kris had, in fact, been looking at him. On tour they would often look off-stage to each other for a small smile or nod of support that would get them through their set. Even towards the end of Idol, when their friendship was still blossoming, they’d make quick eye contact during their performances for that little sense of encouragement, the feeling that someone was rooting for you no matter how badly you might screw up.

Kris finished out the song and Adam joined the small round of applause his family offered, punctuating it with a dramatic yawn. He wasn’t particularly tired, and he was certainly used to surviving on minimal sleep, but he was more than ready to slip away and clear his head.

“Well, I’m going to call it a night,” Mr. Allen announced, standing and stretching his arms over his head. He pulled Katy into his side and kissed the top of her head then did the same to his wife.

“Goodnight, Dad.” Kris stood and placed his guitar on the loveseat behind him and embraced his father.

As Adam watched, he couldn’t help but feel a familiar twinge of nostalgia. This holiday was supposed to be different. This holiday was supposed to be about solidifying a family and making a new tradition. This was his turn to make something more permanent, despite the tumultuous turns his life had been taking. It was something he’d finally decided he wanted, after years of resistance.

“I’m tired too,” Adam said, forcing another yawn. “Thank you so much for everything. It was all delicious.”

He could swear Kris looked the slightest bit disappointed, but Mrs. Allen pulled him into a tight embrace, drawing away his attention.

“Any time, Adam. You’re a member of this family now.”

He returned the hug, unexpectedly affected by her words. He swallowed hard and she released him so Kris could hug him.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Kris whispered as Adam pulled him into his chest, wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

Adam simply nodded, unable to respond.

He felt heavy, yet with Kris’s words the weight seemed to lift.

“Goodnight,” he managed, and after giving Katy a tight squeeze and shaking hands with Mr. Allen, he excused himself down the hall to the guest room.

Closing the door behind him, he didn’t bother turning on the light. The room was dark, but the outline of the bed was visible and he easily maneuvered across the room. Dragging his hands roughly through his hair, he sat on the edge of the mattress and stared into the nothingness, thoughts of family and Kris and Drake and all the things he thought he wanted clouding his mind until he finally began to slip into unconsciousness.

 

 

 

 

 

_The time between the last chord of Don’t Stop Believin’ and the moment they could disappear into the confines of the tour bus moved excruciatingly slow. Beginning at opposite ends of the barriers, they busied themselves with signing autographs and making small talk with fans, all the while shooting anxious, secret glances at each other from across the lot._

They were assaulted with hundreds of blinding flashbulbs and manic screaming and grabbing and touching and the complete invasion of all personal space. It was chaotic and exhausting and loud and the only thing that should have been on their minds was the thought of collapsing into bed and getting some much needed sleep before replaying the entire day over again, in a different city less than seven hours away.

But, it wasn’t.

All they really cared about were those few free hours before the sunrise, where they could talk about their dreams and fears and cookie preferences without pretense or a PR briefing. It was the sacred time that they could spend pretending that they were just two normal guys who weren’t on a national tour, teetering on the cusp of something huge and life changing.

When they passed by each other, midway down the line, Adam snaked an arm out, sliding it around Kris’s waist and pulling him back into his chest. He planted a chaste kiss into Kris’s hair, much to the appreciative scream of the crowd, then released him and continued without a word.

It was an innocent enough exchange and the crowd was used to the easy displays of affection between the two best friends. What they didn’t know was that Kris was practically buzzing with anticipation and the awkward way he tugged his tee-shirt down was less about being unconsciously adorable and more about covering the embarrassing reaction he had to Adam’s soft lips pressed against his head. On the opposite end of the barriers, Adam seemed cool and collected, while underneath the surface his blood boiled hot with want and anxiousness.

By the time the last program had been scrawled with Kris’s rushed signature, he was literally bouncing up and down, shifting from one Converse clad foot to the other while he watched Adam linger at the other end of the line. Adam was throwing his head back and laughing, exposing the length of his throat in a way that made Kris hum with excitement and without hesitation he took off, jogging back past the group of screeching fans he had already passed. When he reached the place where Adam stood, thoughtfully chewing on the back of a black Sharpie as he admired a portrait done by a blue-haired fan, he stopped.

Kris knew it was rude and his parents had brought him up better than to behave as such, but he couldn’t help himself. He reached out and snagged Adam around the forearm, tugging impatiently like a petulant five year old, his lips pressing into a pout.

Adam arched an eyebrow in amusement, but smiled. Kris watched his mouth move, undoubtedly charming the crowd with a few appreciative parting words, but the sound of his own heartbeat thudded in his ears, drowning out all other sound. He wondered what Adam would think if he knew exactly what Kris wanted. If he could see the desire and the need and even the hint of fear reflected in his eyes, what would he say? Would he deny him?

With a short nod, Adam gently pulled his arm free and tossed it around Kris’s neck, steering him towards the tour bus.

Adam’s legs were long, but Kris had no problem keeping in stride. He was practically running, and even with the weight of Adam’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, he felts as though he was floating across the parking lot.

When Adam woke, it was with a start. He was tangled in the sheets and sweating profusely, though the dream he’d been having had already slipped from his consciousness. His body ached from restlessness, his arm tingling from being tucked awkwardly under his body. Groaning, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the heels of his hands and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress.

He hadn’t bothered changing into pajamas, just kicked off his jeans sometime during the night so that he was now in a pair of blue boxers and his black fitted tee-shirt. It was chilly and he shivered a bit as he stood, then grabbed his bag and crept quietly out into the hall. He could hear voices in the kitchen and the smell of batter browning wafted through the house, but he needed to clean up first before he could join the Allens. Tiptoeing down the carpet, he slipped into the bathroom and clicked the door closed behind him.

Looking in the mirror, he saw that his eyes were red and smudged in black rings of makeup. Leaning down into the sink he scrubbed his face clean with water so hot it was almost scalding. He pulled off his shirt, using it to blot himself dry then his boxers and jammed them into his bag, pulling out a new outfit and putting it on. He retrieved his stick of black liner, and with a steady, practiced hand, applied a thick line beneath his eyes. With the pad of his thumb, he smudged it into a perfectly imperfect smoky, subtle charcoal. Wiping the makeup residue off his hands on the butt of his jeans he stared into the mirror.

He sighed heavily at his reflection. After everything that had happened last night, he felt oddly stripped. He’d shown Kris a small part of him that had been tucked away. It hadn’t even been a conscious decision; it had all sort of tumbled out.

He hesitated momentarily before leaning over and pulling a tissue from the shelf behind the toilet. He made quick work of removing the eyeliner he had just applied, feeling oddly lighter as he dropped the black stained tissue in the trash.

It was strange to be in Conway, in the bathroom of the home Kris had grown up in. Being part of something so personal should have made him uncomfortable, but it didn’t.

Things were not supposed to be like this. His life was not supposed to be like this. The internal conflict by both having the things he wanted and being denied them was threatening his sanity. He didn’t know how to feel.

He ran his hands through his hair, letting it fall haphazardly over his forehead.

And yet, somehow, here in Conway, he felt nothing.

But, it wasn’t the indifferent, numbing kind of nothing that he had been growing used to. It was the freeing, live in the moment kind of nothing, when what he had or didn’t have or was on the cusp of having didn’t matter. The past and future only existed as markers of time. What was real and relevant was the smell of pancakes and it could be that simple.

Adam left the bathroom, stopping quickly to deposit his bag in the guest room and then headed to the kitchen, where Mrs. Allen was, again, standing over the stove, this time with a spatula in hand. Kris sat at the table, resting his chin on a fist and looking over the sports section of the paper.

“Morning,” Adam said as he entered, announcing his presence so as not to startle them.

“Adam! About time you bum.” Kris dropped the paper and grinned.

Mrs. Allen turning away from the griddle that sat atop the burners.

“Sleep well, hon?”

“Very,” Adam lied politely. His sleeping issues were unrelated to his place of rest. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since September, though he saw no need to share the fact.

“Milk and juice are in the fridge. Coffee is on the counter. Help yourself. I hope you like pancakes.” Mrs. Allen waved her spatula in the direction of the refrigerator and turned back to the stove.

Adam grabbed an empty cup off the table and as he stepped forward, Kris stuck out his glass.

“Please?”

“What do you want?” Adam took it and rolled his eyes.

“What ever you’re having. Thank you,” he answered with a smirk.

Adam shook his head in mock annoyance and continued over to the fridge. Smiling he saw two articles cut out and taped next to each other against the stainless steel door. One read ‘Seems The Fans Can't Stay Away, Allen's New Album Is Written All Over the Charts’, the other ‘Glitter, Glam and Greatness Guaranteed: Adam Lambert Fans Anxiously Await Highly Anticipated Album’. He touched the edge of the newspaper thoughtfully, skimming the words before pulling open the door.

Musing over the articles, he grabbed the carton of orange juice and filled his own glass, then took out the milk and did the same to Kris’s. He closed the door with his hip and walked back over to the table, handing Kris his glass.

“Thank you,” Kris said, taking a gulp. As he moved the glass away from his mouth he paused and cocked an eyebrow, looking curiously at the drink still in Adam’s hand.

“Oh.” Adam stopped and tilted his head, looking at the creamy white liquid in Kris’s glass then back at the orange in his own. “Yeah, I felt like OJ, but the orange juice had pulp. You hate pulp,” he answered, taking a seat at the table.

Kris’s eyes widened an imperceptible amount and the corners of his mouth curved into a small, salient smile.

It had been a completely unconscious observation on Adam‘s part. He’d registered the fact, remembered Kris’s preference and made the decision without actually giving it any thought. Obviously they had spent many a breakfast together over the past year, and any best friend would have picked up on his aversion. Right?

“Here you go boys.” Mrs. Allen interrupted the moment, placing a platter of hot silver dollars on the space of table between them. Strangely relieved for the distraction, Adam began pulling pancakes onto his plate.

Kris did the same, drenching them in sticky, brown syrup before pausing, looking down at his breakfast thoughtfully.

"When do you have to be back in Memphis?"

Adam answered cautiously.

"I've got a recording session with Cavallo tomorrow at eleven-thirty." He wasn‘t sure where the conversation was going. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome, but a larger, unexpected part of him wasn’t ready to leave just yet.

Immediately, Kris's head popped up and he was grinning. Something fluttered in Adam's chest and he swallowed hard against it.

"Good. Let's go out," Kris suggested, forking a piece of pancake into his mouth. "I'll show you some of my roots."

Kris had to phone in for a radio interview at eleven, but it wasn’t long and by twelve-thirty they were cruising through Arkansas in Adam’s rented Ferrari. It was a gorgeous day, sunny with a slight chill in the air as fall battled to stave off winter.

Kris directed him through Conway, often shouting out directions as they were already passing the turn, but eventually they pulled into a spot on a street in the busy part of town lined with restaurants and businesses.

“Downtown Conway,” Kris announced, spreading his arms and motioning around him when they got out of the car.

They spent the day strolling around town, visiting various places that had been a part of Kris’s childhood and Adam learned the stories behind them. He commiserated over Kris’s first and last tee-ball game, laughed over his awkward first date experience at the Oak Street Bistro and listened quietly, filled with an odd sense of awe, when Kris showed him the hole-in-the-wall pubs he’d played at before Idol.

Every time their shoulders bumped or they knocked elbows, Adam reflexively stiffened and held his breath as though he might spontaneously combust from the contact, but he never did and Kris never seemed to notice. He didn’t understand what was bringing about this automatic response, but he didn’t like it. At one point, they stopped for coffee and when they both reached for the same cup, their hands brushed. Adam had been so unexpectedly flustered that he’d grabbed the hot drink and took a thoughtlessly large gulp, doing a pretty thorough job burning his mouth and tongue. He didn’t mind. The pain distracted him from the confusing and unwanted involuntary reactions his body was having.

Other than that, the afternoon was pleasantly uneventful. They were only stopped a handful of times, but the people were friendly and genuine, shaking hands and congratulating them on their successes, rather than demanding pictures and autographs.

Adam decided early on that he really liked Conway, and perhaps he’d done himself a disservice by buying a house in L.A.. Having a place here, somewhere to tuck away to when the routine and the spotlight got to be too much, would be a vacation in and of itself. He’d always assumed he’d be happiest in West Hollywood. Growing up it had been easy to find the spotlight there, but what he hadn’t anticipated after Idol was that the spotlight now followed him. He no longer needed to thrust himself out there.

It was beginning to get late and the sun was setting, but Kris insisted on visiting one more place, so Adam obediently followed him down the sidewalk. He could tell Kris was excited and it made him strangely excited too, as if the emotion was contagious, though he had no clue where they were headed. The crossed a few streets and made a few turns and when Kris stopped short suddenly, Adam stumbled into him from behind. After getting his footing, Adam looked up at the place in front of them.

It was aged, the wood was splintering and the paint was chipping, but somehow it was more appealing that way. There were two large, plate glass windows on either side of the door, both filled with various instruments, some that Adam didn’t even recognize. The place was mostly dark, save for a dim yellow glow that seemed to emanate from the very back and no one appeared to be inside.

“And this,” Kris said, motioning forward with a wide grin, “is where I got my first guitar.”

Adam looked up and read the weathered wooden sign above the door that read simply ‘Mike’s Music’.

“I used to stand right here, in front of this window and look inside, with my face pressed against the glass. My mom would always let us stop when we were shopping, but she says I never wanted to go inside.” Kris leaned forward and placed his palms against the window. “It’s like I was scared if I went in, if I actually got close to the instruments, I wouldn’t be able to leave. I had about six quarters to my name. I knew I couldn’t afford any of them, so if I went inside…if I got too close…I would be stuck there forever,” Kris paused and dropped his arms. “It sounds so stupid now,” he laughed.

“No,” Adam said sharply, imagining a six year old Kris standing in that exact spot, with his hair all disheveled and grass stains on the knees of his jeans, looking into the store, unaware of the amazing things that waited in his future. “It’s not stupid.”

Kris smiled sheepishly and shrugged, looking down at his sneakers.

“I still come here sometimes and just look in through the windows. Of course, I’m not so easily awestruck now. Violins and cellos don’t do it for me anymore. But that,” he tapped his finger against the glass, “that still does.”

Curiously, Adam leaned forward and looked into the store, trying to see what Kris was referring to, his lack of instrument knowledge hindering his search.

“Where?”

“There on the back wall.”

Adam pressed his face closer to the glass and looked in. Sure enough, on the back wall, in its own mounted case was an expensive looking guitar.

“It’s a 1942 J-45 Gibson Legend with a nitrocellulose finish and custom white button tuners,” Kris said, practically bouncing up and down. “The body is spruce and mahogany with a rosewood fingerboard. She’s beautiful, and the sound projection is unbelievable.”

Adam had only the very basic knowledge of guitars so most of what Kris said flew right over his head, but it didn’t take away from his enjoyment of Kris’s raw, innocent excitement. It made his chest feel full and warm and he couldn’t help the goofy grin that spread across his face.

Kris looked longingly into the shop; his nose pressed against the glass and he sighed.

“It’s been hanging in there for years.”

“So why don’t you freakin’ buy it?” Adam asked, confused as to why this option hadn’t yet appealed to Kris. He tilted his head as Kris turned slowly, frowning.

“I’ve got a guitar. I don’t need it.” His eyes seemed to become unfocused and he ran a hand through his hair. “My guitar has been good to me. It’s modest and nothing special to look at, but I’d feel bad giving it up for something flashy and high end. I know my guitar. We make a good partnership. Besides, it’s $9,000.”

Adam was surprised to hear the price, but not convinced by Kris’s reasoning. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“I think you should just buy it.”

“I don’t need it,” Kris laughed, shaking his head.

“So? You want it don’t you? I mean, ok, you probably don’t need a $9,000 guitar, but, what if this is, like, the guitar you’re supposed to have. I mean, hell, it’s flashy and extravagant, but what if it turns out you can make music that’s even more amazing with this guitar. You want it, you should have it.”

Adam took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly so invested, but he really wanted Kris to buy the guitar. It made no sense, really, and Kris was right. The guitar he owned now was more than capable of accompanying his vocals.

Adam, however, had little time to muse over his motivations, because Kris reached out, grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket and began pulling him down the sidewalk, away from Mike’s Music and away from the expensive J-Gibson-whatever guitar.

“You’re really a terrible influence, you know that? Pressuring me to cheat on my guitar. She’d be so hurt.” Kris laughed and Adam joined in, though he was feeling oddly disappointed by Kris’s resistance. He had no stock in whether or not Kris bought it, yet somehow he felt oddly affected.

They walked a ways more, Kris pointing out his favorite spots and telling stories of his childhood before they headed to Adam’s car. Mrs. Allen was planning dinner for six and if they didn’t start back, they’d be late.

As they drove through town, Adam was thankful for Kris’s persistence in having him over for Thanksgiving. If he’d backed down the first time Adam had said no, this afternoon would have never happened, and Adam’s life was better because it had.

“Next time, I’ll show you around where I grew up,” Adam said, once they’d gotten into the Ferrari and he was pulling out of the spot.

“Okay,” Kris answered. “Soon?”

“Soon,” Adam echoed, realizing silently that if Kris had said ‘tomorrow’ he would have agreed without hesitation, Robert Cavallo be damned.


	2. A Little More Than Beers and Brothers

Dinner was uneventful. Kris regaled them with a recap of he and Adam’s afternoon downtown which spurred Mrs. Allen to share stories from Kris’s childhood. Kris repeatedly apologized and complained that Adam wasn’t interested, though in reality, he loved learning about Kris’s life and listened intently to Mrs. Allen‘s every word.. Again, Kris and Adam did the dishes, and after the last glass was dried and returned to its place in the cabinet, they went out into the living room to relax. Or at least, Adam had assumed they would relax; just wind down and watch some TV and bullshit the night away. Kris, however, had other ideas.

“Come on,” Kris insisted, attempting to pull Adam up off the couch by his wrist. “Katy’s spending time with some girl friends in town for the holiday. Let’s go out tonight.”

“Out? I’m sure the Conway nightlife is exquisite, but I think I’ll pass.” Adam resisted, pressing back into the cushions and digging his heels into the floor.

Kris rolled his eyes and let go.

“Don’t knock it. We’ve got a bar.”

“A whole bar?” Adam asked sarcastically, opening his eyes wide in mock surprise.

"Yes. A whole bar. It isn't big or fancy, but it also isn't crowded, teeming with people grabbing and demanding autographs. It's local and even during the holiday weekend you'll be lucky if there's a few old guys in there watching a game."

Adam considered the idea, rubbing his palm against his chin.

He hadn’t gone out in awhile, not at least since he’d broken up with Drake. The L.A. paparazzi had been hot on his tail, eager to catch a shot of him with any random member of the male sex so that they could label them a couple and sell their scandalous photos to the big name magazines. Going out meant pictures and grabbing and touching and scrutiny.

Not to mention, he hadn’t felt much like partying. He was exhausted from the late hours of recording and perpetual jetlag. Despite all efforts to the contrary, he’d become distant with many of his friends and the stock celebrity company had long ago lost its gleam.

And then there were the more subtle reasons that he wasn’t jumping at the opportunity to go out drinking with Kris.

Adam wasn’t really sure what was going on to be honest. There were reactions, unexpected ones, that he was having to Kris and while he’d been ardently ignoring them, there was no denying they existed. What it meant or why it was happening was not yet something he was prepared to evaluate, yet he doubted the addition of alcohol would aid his ignorance. There was also the fact that words slipped from the lips much easier with inebriation and should discussion of the breakup be breached, Adam didn’t trust himself not to spill Kris’s part in the matter. Really, he doubted he would get that drunk, but even the possibility was enough to make him hesitant.

However, saying no to Kris outright was a feat in and of itself. And a drink didn’t sound horrible right about now.

Kris interrupted his thoughts, his words dripping heavily with sarcasm.

"Or we could spend another night here, doing nothing, and you can continue to wallow in self-pity. That sounds like a much better time."

Groaning, Adam stood and playfully shoved Kris by the shoulders. Maybe tonight, after a few drinks, he would come clean. It wouldn’t change anything, but he was really foolish for not being upfront about it from the beginning. It wasn’t a big deal, honestly. Though, he wondered, if that we’re the case, why was he so God-damn nervous about it?

"Fine. We'll go out. But you're buying."

Kris rolled his eyes, but nodded in agreement.

They took Kris’s Fusion, and as they drove across town, Adam remembered the day they’d received their Fords, fondly. It had been the very beginning of the tour, during a beautiful day in the summer. Adam had chosen a Mustang - fast, flashy and loud - while Kris had opted for the Fusion - eco-friendly, reliable and modest. After smiling for the necessary amount of photos and signing autographs they’d gotten in their cars and raced down the highway. They were due to return back for the night’s concert, but instead of heading straight there, they stopped at a roadside diner, talking and laughing over enormous cheeseburgers and vanilla milkshakes. They were almost late that night and received a lot of flak and a stern talking to about responsibilities and reputations, though Adam wouldn’t have changed the afternoon for anything.

It wasn’t until Adam felt the car’s momentum slow and then stop that he realized they had reached their destination. Ducking his head to peer up at the establishment looming outside the front windshield, he cocked a curious eyebrow. It looked old and worn, but loved - a place that would have ‘regulars’ and menu items named after them. The wooden front door was crooked and the windows were slightly tinted, though a dirty yellow light illuminated them from the inside.

“They’ve got beer,” Kris reasoned, sensing his hesitation. He pushed open the driver’s side door and stepped out, and Adam did the same on his side, looking around the mostly empty parking lot dubiously.

“Oh, just come on,” Kris huffed, leading the way up to the front, Adam following a step behind, sulking.

When Kris pushed the door open, allowing Adam to pass by him into the bar first, the first thing Adam noticed was how dark the interior of the building was. The only discernible source of light came from a few mock oil lamps mounted on the walls and the glow from two television screens behind the bar. He glanced around, taking in his surroundings - a few small, round, wooden tables and chairs, an old-fashioned juke box, a dart board hanging on the farthest wall. The bar itself ran the entire length of the place on their left, with various bottles lined up against a long, tempered mirror. There were a few backless barstools, mostly unoccupied, though the handful of people in the place barely gave them a second glance.

Kris led him to a small table in the back corner and sank down into one of the chairs. Adam took the free one and flipped it around so that the back was against the table. He swung his leg over and sat with his arms folded on the back of the chair.

Immediately, a waitress was hovering, smiling expectantly first at Adam and then at Kris before bouncing over, pad in hand.

“Kristopher Allen! It’s been awhile since I saw you in here,” she commented, pushing her hair back off her forehead, though her wide eyes were glued to Adam.

Smiling, Kris nodded.

“Yeah, I’ve been kind of busy.”

“Oh, I know! We still have your autograph hanging behind the bar! I bought three copies of your album!” She beamed proud, her eyes shifting quickly away from Adam, to Kris, then back again.

“That’s awesome. Thank you,” Kris said, ducking his head, and though Adam couldn’t see in the dim lighting, he knew he was blushing.

There was an awkward silence then as Kris fidgeted with the edge of the drink menu and Adam sighed, twisting towards the waitress with his arm extended.

“Adam Lambert.”

She practically squealed as she took his hand and shook it vigorously.

“I know who you are! Oh my God, you‘re even hotter in person!” she screeched, and, out of the corner of his eye, Adam saw Kris stifle a laugh behind his menu.

Gently, Adam pulled his arm back and cleared his throat.

“So, a Sam Adams?”

He looked expectantly at Kris who added, “two.”

“Oh! Right!” the waitress started, bringing a hand to her cheek. “Right away!” She paused a moment longer, taking them both in, then spun on her heels and all but skipped away from the table.

“Smooth, Allen,” Adam laughed, clicking his nails against the table.

“What?” Kris had put the small, rectangular menu down and was now leaning forward with his chin in his hands. “I promised you minimal attention.”

“Yeah, minimal attention. I’m not invisible!”

Kris shrugged and grinned and seconds later the waitress returned with their drinks and a stack of cocktail napkins.

“Anything else?” she purred, though her fingers fidgeted nervously with the collar of her black polo. “Something to eat?”

Kris shook his head and Adam said sweetly, “No, I think we’re good. Thank you,” and she scurried away, back off towards the kitchen.

“I’ll never get used to it,” Kris remarked, taking a swig from the condensation covered bottle in front of him. “Never.”

“Get used to what?”

“The fame. I mean, I’m getting used to the schedule and the lack of sleep and the jet setting, but I’ll never get used to people acting like I’m someone special.”

Adam tilted his head and watched Kris take another sip of beer.

“But you are someone special.”

Kris rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“No, I’m just lucky. I get to make music for a living.”

There were many reasons Kris was special and the fact that he could now make music a career wasn’t at the top of the list. In Adam’s mind, it didn’t even crack the top three. He was an amazing person, both generous and kind. He was selfless and genuine and honest. He was a lot of things that Adam wasn’t, a lot of things Adam wanted to be.

“Kris-” Adam paused. What was he going to say? Was he actually going to go down the ‘I admire’ you route? Was he going to tell Kris how he looked up to him?

“Adam?” Kris teased, grinning.

Adam swallowed and felt something deep in his core flicker. He kept his eyes on the brown bottle as he slid it back and forth on the table, between his hands.

“Kris, I think-”  
_  
Buzz._

Buzz.  
  
“I’m vibrating,” Adam finished awkwardly, feeling around his pants for his phone. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked down at the screen.

_Neil’s Cell_

It would have been easy to ignore it, but knowing Neil, he’d just keep calling until Adam picked up.

“I’m sorry,” Adam sighed, waving the phone.

“Nah, it’s alright, go ahead.”

Adam nodded and answered the call, bringing his cell to his ear hesitantly.

“Hello?”

“Adam! My favorite brother!”

“Hi, Neil.” Adam rolled his eyes, and Kris nodded in understanding.

“Listen, I need a favor.”

Where ever Neil was, it was loud, and Adam pressed his free hand against his ear, trying hear what was being said.

“A favor?”

Neil huffed impatiently.

“Yes. A favor,”

“Alright,” Adam said with a sigh. “Are you going to tell me what it is or am I going to have to guess?”

Adam watched Kris motion the waitress over. They spoke briefly, though Adam couldn’t hear the conversation.

“I need you to talk to this girl,” Neil answered, taking Adam’s attention away from the verbal exchange at the table.

“What? What girl?”

“The gorgeous girl in the adorable green dress who is standing right next to me.”

Adam heard giggling and he was sure his eyes were going to roll right out of his head.

“Neil, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Listen, there’s this really hot chick I met at this bar. She’s a ten. I told her I’m Adam Lambert’s brother, but she isn’t buying it. I flashed her my license and everything.” Neil’s voice was hushed and muffled, like he was holding his hand over the phone. However, Adam got the message.

“Ah hah,” Adam laughed dryly. “So you want me to help get you laid?”

Across from him, Kris snorted into his drink and shook his head.

“You know I’d do it for you.”

“Oh, would you?”

“Burning Man 2002.”

“Ok, ok!” Adam hissed, leaning away from Kris as though he might hear. Though, even if he did, he’d have no idea what that meant “Just fucking put her on.”

Adam had to say all of six words before adorable-green-dress-girl squealed so loudly, Kris jumped up off of his chair. Cringing, Adam pulled the phone away from his ear, and six seconds later the call was ended on the other end. Neil owed him, big time.

“Well, it’s good to know someone is getting some tonight,” Adam said off-handedly, noticing a new beer now sat in front of him. He looked at it curiously, then shrugged and drained the one already in his hand.

Kris blushed slightly.

“So, how are you holding up with everything?” he asked.

“Good,” Adam answered quickly. “Real good. The album drops next month and then there’s a lot of promotion scheduled so I’ll be pretty busy. You know how it is.”

Kris nodded slowly and picked at the label of his bottle. As Adam took a sip of the second beer, he noticed that Kris seemed to still be working on his first.

“But, I meant, how are you _doing_?”

Adam considered the question and frowned a little. He knew exactly what Kris was getting at and he wasn’t sure how he felt discussing the breakup with Kris here, in person. On the phone, it had been easy to withhold bits of truth and be selective about sharing, but it would be much more difficult here. They had perfected this uncanny ability to see things in each other that no one else could. They saw past each other’s facades, broke down each other’s walls. It was slightly unnerving, and Adam wasn’t prepared to start testing his defenses tonight.

“Good,” he repeated. “Real good.”

He punctuated it with a lopsided grin he hoped would end the conversation, but Kris wasn’t convinced.

“You don’t have to be good, you know. I’m not the press. I won‘t judge you for it.”

Adam was surprised by the sharpness in Kris’s voice and he shifted uneasily. Kris thought he wasn’t telling him the truth, and bitterly, Adam realized he was sort of right. Yes, Adam was actually okay with the break up. He missed Drake, but more as a friend than anything else. But he’d lied about the reasons Drake had left and although he told himself it was for Kris’s sake, he knew he wasn’t completely selfless in the act. Taking a long chug of beer to collect his thoughts, Adam knew he had to give him something.

“Kris, really. Of course it sucks and I wish things could have worked, but my life changed a lot after Idol, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. We have to make sacrifices, you know? Contrary to popular belief, you can’t expect to have it all. Drake deserved better than what I could offer him.”

Kris’s face seemed to take on a sort of sadness then and his shoulders hunched slightly forward. No one else would have noticed, but Adam did and he chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, wondering what could have brought upon the mood change.

“But, I’m happy. And I love my life. I’ve got an amazing family,” Adam added, hoping to lighten things. “And some pretty okay friends too.”

Kris looked up then and smiled and, much to Adam’s relief, the sadness was gone. It was difficult enough to imagine Kris hurting, but having any type of hand in it was excruciating, however unintended. With a sigh, he lifted his bottle to his lips only to find it was empty. Not fifteen seconds later, their waitress was at the table, sliding a third in front of him.

“Uh, thanks,” Adam mumbled, looking inquisitively at the bottle. He looked at Kris then and saw guilt dashed across his face; guilt that no one else would ever be able to notice. Adam leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest with a smug grin.

“Kristopher Allen, are you trying to get me drunk?”

Kris’s nostrils flared as he attempted to keep a straight face and Adam raised a significant eyebrow.

“You are! You’re trying to take advantage of me, aren’t you!”

Kris laughed then, rubbing his face with his palms.

“Oh, yes. You’re on to me,” he chuckled. “I just wanted to show you a good time. I wanted you to have a fun night.”

“I appreciate the intent, but you make me sound like a lush.”

“Well…” Kris winced and shrugged.

Adam playfully flipped him off then turned to find their waitress, signaling her over from the bar. When she reached their table, he held up his full beer.

“Can we get two more of these,” he asked, grinning deviously.

“Two? Right now?” the waitress asked, her eyes flicking between Adam and Kris.

“Yup, right now.”

She nodded and turned away, while Kris leaned across the table.

“I know that look and I’m telling you right now, no. I have to get us home, remember? No.”

Adam continued smiling, silent until the waitress returned and placed two more Sam Adams down, gently, on the table.

“Um, anything else?” she asked skeptically, directing her question at Adam.

“No,” he answered. “Not yet.”

“Alright, just let me know,” she said with exaggerated sweetness then left the table.

Adam nodded at the bottles and slid them towards Kris, his eyes shining mischievously.

“What? Adam, no,” Kris whined, leaning back away from the beers and shaking his head. “What are you doing?”

“Leveling the playing field,” Adam answered. “You deserve a fun night, too, even if your boyfriend didn’t just break up with you.”

Kris cracked at this and laughed, sighing finally in resignation and picking up both bottles, one in each fist.

“You’re a horrible influence, do you know that? I don’t know why I hang out with you.”

“You love me,” Adam responded, unthinking. As the words registered, his eyes went wide and he struggled to keep his composure. “I, uh, keep you young,” he added quickly.

Kris rolled his eyes then shrugged, seemingly unaffected by Adam’s declaration and, silently, Adam cursed himself for being such an idiot. Of course Kris loved him, they were best friends. There was no reason for either of them to get worked up over it.

Adam breathed and pushed it out of his mind.

“Now go. Drink!”

Crunching his eyebrows in concentration, Kris nodded and brought the first bottle to his mouth.

“You signed her chest!” Kris giggled, holding the door open for Adam who stumbled out into the parking lot.

“She was a damned good waitress and she asked for an autograph!”

“Yeah, on a cocktail napkin!”

“Kris?”

“What?”

“You said cock.”

Kris’s face turned bright red and Adam doubled over in laughter, holding his sides as they walked away from the bar. After a handful more beers and a shot of Tequila resulting from a mutual dare, the waitress had called a cab at Kris’s request. It sat down by the curb, idling, and when they reached it, Adam pulled the door open and let Kris slide in first, before diving in headfirst himself.

Kris gave the driver the address and they pulled away, Adam nearly toppling over off balance. It had been awhile since he'd allowed himself to get this drunk, not that he'd had much time for partying over the last few months really. It was hard living under a microscope, where your every move had the possibility of ending up as a six page spread in People magazine. Not that he cared what most people thought, but his label did.

“I'm glad you're here,” Kris slurred, poking Adam in the side. “I'm glad you came to Conway.”

Adam smiled.

“I'm really glad I'm here too.”

“I know you'd rather be in Los Angeles with Drake,” Kris said matter-of-factly, shrugging. “But I wasn't letting you spend the holiday in a hotel room.”

Adam swallowed and chewed thoughtfully on his thumbnail. His stomach sloshed around as they took a sharp turn, but something other than the alcohol was twisting his insides into knots. Would he really rather be in L.A. with Drake if given the chance?

No.

The answer came to him immediately. The only place he ever wanted to be at any given time was where Kris was. And that was okay, right? It was okay to want to be around your best friend. Adam sighed.

“Trust me, Kristopher. There is nowhere I'd rather be. Nowhere.”

And he meant it, though not in the sense of Conway, Arkansas, but rather by Kris's side. It was where he longed to be.

And that was okay, right?

He chalked it up to inebriation, but he was feeling oddly emotional, so when Kris turned to him and placed a palm gently on his knee, looking at him from across the cab with wide, awestruck eyes, he sucked in a gulp of air and held it in his lungs.

“I’ve missed you, Adam,” Kris said, his voice wavering. He bit his bottom lip and Adam’s mouth went dry. “We went from spending every minute together to rushed dinners and weekly phone calls. Why? Why did we do that?”

Adam was concentrating very hard. His brain was fuzzy and everything seemed oddly out of focus. Everything except Kris’s voice which was sharp and clear and poignant.

“The tour ended. I didn’t want it to, but it did. And it’s not our fault,” Adam said, a bit loudly. “It’s the fucking label keeping us so busy. They just want their albums. They don’t care if we’re…if we’re…” he paused and thought hard. “They don’t care if we’re fucking happy.”

Kris nodded his head exaggeratedly. They took another turn and the momentum pressed Kris into Adam’s side. Adam drew in a sharp breath, and when the car straightened out, Kris didn’t move.

“They don’t, do they? They just want our music so they can get their money. They don’t really care about us! If they cared they would…know stuff.”

“Yeah,” Adam agreed breathlessly. He was painfully aware that Kris’s hand had slid up to his thigh and was now gripping him through his jeans. He exhaled slowly and giggled in a high-pitched inebriated way that shook his whole body.

“Like, they’d know that I’m happy around you. They’d make us be around each other so I could be happy again.”

Adam stopped laughing as Kris’s face took on an almost child-like quality as he said the words. His eyes were wide and almost fearful though a lop-sided grin tugged up one corner of his mouth.

“You’re…you’re not happy?” Adam whispered.

Kris shrugged and looked down at his hand. Sighing, he slowly pulled it back onto his lap then straightened is body. Adam’s chest felt as though it had caved in. He ran his tongue across his lips and placed his own palm over the empty place Kris’s had just occupied.

“You said ‘so you could be happy _again_ '."

“Huh?” Kris scrunched up his nose and studied Adam. Clearly he was having trouble following the conversation.

“You’re not happy? You said -- never mind.” Adam’s own brain was fogged. He wasn‘t even sure he’d heard him correctly with the way his pulse was pounding loudly in his ears. He didn’t want to think or analyze or question it any further anyway. He was having an amazing night and for the first time in a long time he was enjoying himself completely, without guilt or effort.

When they reached Kris’s place, Kris literally dove out of the backseat onto the lawn and Adam was left tossing bills into the cab drivers hand in an obnoxious fit of laughter. They both stumbled up the front walk and through the front door, tripping each other up while they attempted to squeeze through at the same time.

Adam fell onto his knees in the living room, laughing so hard he curled up into a ball, clutching his stomach. Kris was attempting to hush him through his own giggles as he shut and locked the door behind them.

Taking a deep breath, Adam pushed himself up from the floor and when Kris turned back to look at him, they were silent, their faces serious for a total of twelve seconds before the exploded into fits of laughter again.

“Ok, ok, shhh!” Adam whispered, waving his hand in front of his face. “We’re going to wake everyone up!”

Kris pressed his lips together and nodded seriously, though his eyes crinkled with the effort to repress his laughter.

“Come on, let’s go in my room,” Adam hissed, motioning down the hallway.

“Your room?” asked Kris, squinting his eyes. “Are you moving in or something?”

“Maybe,” Adam teased, tugging Kris along with him towards the guest room. “Would you want me to move in?”

Kris dug his heels into the carpet, stopping them. Swallowing, Adam turned to face him.

“Maybe.”

They stared at each other silently for a moment and Adam felt his heart speed up. His mouth was dry and his tongue darted out over his lips, trying to moisten them. Then Kris laughed, breaking the tension and rubbing his hands together mischievously.

“Go. I’ll meet you in there.”

Adam nodded and walked down the rest of the hallway, scratching the back of his neck and wondering why his heart was suddenly slamming into his ribcage. Horrified, he realized his jeans were feeling a bit snug as well. Once in the safety of the guest room he took a number of deep slow breaths and willed himself to calm down.

While he waited for Kris he kicked his boots off and tugged his jeans down off of his hips. Quickly, he rifled through his luggage, finding his dark green pajama bottoms from the night before and pulling them on.

He turned when he heard the bedroom door creak open and saw Kris standing in the doorway, waving the unopened bottle of Dom Perignon in his hand.

“Kris! That was from me for your parents!” Adam whispered, unsure of why he felt this was a secret.

Kris, however, shrugged and placed his thumbs beneath the cork, aiming it towards the bed, away from Adam. It gave way with an obnoxious pop and the cork flew across the room, denting the opposite wall with the force. They turned and stared at each other, their mouths open in shock before erupting into laughter.

Kris climbed up onto the bed and sat against the metal headboard with his legs crossed. Adam sat next to him with his legs dangling off the mattress, leaning back against the wall. Kris handed him the bottle and he took a quick gulp before passing it back.

“Now was that so bad?” Kris asked, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Adam shrugged.

“The champagne? No, I think it was a very nice choice if I do say so myself.”

Shaking his head, Kris shoved him playfully in the shoulder, grinning.

“No, you jerk, the bar.”

“Oh,” answered Adam thoughtfully. “No, I guess not. It was actually nice to go out for a drink and not get mobbed.”

Nodding, Kris ran his fingers around the green bottle.

“Yeah, it’s pretty chill here in Conway. I mean, everyone knows your name and what you’ve done, but you’re still a person and the people here get that.”

Adam stared down at his hands, picking idly at the black polish on his thumbnail. Again, he wondered if L.A. was really where he wanted to be. Before this, before Kris, settling down in a place like Conway, Arkansas would have been laughable at best, not that he would actually be settling down any time soon. Still, having a place here, in a town where people slowed down and seem to appreciate the little things seemed like the perfect escape. The proximity to Kris had absolutely nothing to do with the appeal. At all.

Right.

Kris seemed to sense that Adam was somewhere else, deep in thought. He reached out and placed his hand against his forearm. The skin to skin contact sent shocks up to Adam’s shoulder and he gazed down, perplexed, at Kris’s hand.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” Kris asked softly, his eyes wide and full of understanding. “All these changes, this whole new life - it’s a lot.”

Slowly, Adam tore his eyes away from Kris’s hand. Looking up, he sighed.

“It just feels like everyone wants a piece of you. I don‘t have enough pieces.”

Kris nodded.

“Yeah. It’s kind of weird, right? Being a household name? You come to realize the spotlight is pretty lonely. They don‘t tell you that in kindergarten when you tell them you want to be a famous singer.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got Katy,” Adam said with a shrug, pulling his arm out from under Kris’s hand. He was surprised by the unexpected bitterness in his voice.

“Adam,” Kris replied seriously, as Adam averted his eyes. “Adam, you’re my friend. No, no, you’re my best friend. You’ve got me too. Always. And not just a piece. The whole thing. And in the rare case that you really need me and I can’t jump on a plane and come bail you out, I’ll only ever be a phone call away.”

Rolling his eyes, Adam took a swig of champagne, though it was simply a way to mask the way his lower lip trembled in response to Kris’s words. The impact of them rendered him speechless, so he simply shrugged, all the while praying to a God he didn’t believe in on the off chance that it could make or break Kris’s oath.

Kris, however, met his projected indifference with an exasperated sigh and he pulled the Dom Perignon out from Adam’s grip.

“Here, look.” Kris’s unsteady fingers pulled the gold ribbon from the neck of the bottle. Biting his lip in concentration he leaned forward and looped it around Adam’s wrist, tying it securely with a knot.

“Aw, did you make me a friendship bracelet?” Adam laughed, batting his eyelashes comically at Kris.

“Shut up. No, it’s so you don’t forget.”

Adam looked down at the ribbon and then back at Kris, tilting his head as he tried to understand.

“You know,” Kris explained, nodding, “like when people tie a red string around their finger to remind themselves of something. Except, not a string. And not red.”

“And not on my finger,” Adam added, looking down and touching the ribbon thoughtfully.

“Exactly!” Kris agreed, taking a sip of champagne. “Gold is more your color anyway.”

When Adam’s eyes flicked back up, they met Kris’s, and they silently smiled at each other from across the bed. It was a seemingly small moment, but it was momentous, because despite the alcohol-induced fog swirling in Adam’s brain, things suddenly became crystal clear.

Drake had been right. Somewhat. Adam loved Kris in a way that was perpetuated by their unique connection, but transcended friendship. If he was being honest, it also surpassed romance. It was its own entity; the only entity.

But, Adam wasn’t waiting. Drake had been very wrong on that count. Waiting meant he was expecting something to change or preparing for some shift of events. He wasn‘t. He was content with this, with whatever it was that Kris could offer him - he would take it and be thankful for it.

But, damn it, he was tired of just being content. He wanted to be happy. He wanted to be greedy - to ask for it all, to ask for more. He wanted to throw caution to the wind and be selfish and give it a go.

He was wanting, but he certainly wasn’t waiting.

Across the bed, Kris brought the bottle of champagne to his lips, dribbling most of the liquid down the front of his shirt, his eyes glassy with inebriation. It would be so easy to say something, to blame it on a drunken slip or pose a hypothetical question to be forgotten by tomorrow’s hangover. The words itched Adam’s lips and made his mouth twitch, but what came out was an exaggerated yawn. He sprawled out on the bed, stretching his arms over his head, then turned on his side, putting his back to Kris.

Kris deserved better than that. Their friendship deserved better.

“Aw, are you going to bed?” Kris whined, sitting up on his knees and peering over the wall Adam had created with his body.

“Yeah,” Adam mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m gonna crash. I’ve got to be in the studio by eleven-thirty tomorrow and it‘s already two in the morning.”

“Pfft, lightweight,” Kris teased, all but falling off the bed as he stood.

Playfully, Adam flicked the finger over his shoulder, the ironic gold ribbon still tied around his wrist.

Kris snickered and wished Adam good night before stumbling out of the room, turning off the light and shutting the door behind him.

Once Adam was sure he was gone, he rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Even in his alcohol induced haze he knew things had taken a sharp turn off track. It was easy to blame his impure thoughts on inebriation. It was easy to classify himself as an affectionate drunk. It was easy to admit that Kris was attractive and he was horny and it was simply as superficial as that.

Disgusted with himself, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. When he stood, the room tilted a bit and he had to close his eyes to regain equilibrium. When he felt steady again, he padded across the carpet, opening the door as quietly as he could and then slipping out down the hall.

On his way to the bathroom, he passed Kris and Katy’s door and childishly averted his eyes, even though it was closed. Images of Kris snuggled up against Katy’s small warm body, nuzzling his nose into her neck, running his fingers down the length of her thigh flashed and burned across Adam’s brain and it made his stomach feel oddly sour. When he finally reached the bathroom and clicked the door behind him, he released a breath he’d been holding since he’d first left his room.

Kris was a friend. Kris was his side-kick, his confidant. Everything he thought he was feeling, these revelations he thought he was having, were a result of one too many beers and a severe lack of action since Drake had left over a month ago. If he could just find some release, Adam figured, things would right themselves and he would get back in the right head space.

Sighing, he placed his arm against the tiled wall and pressed his forehead into his forearm. Some of the fuzz in his brain was lifting, though in its place Adam recognized the presence of a headache. Not wanting to wait for the mild pain to morph into something full blown, Adam slipped his hand beneath the waist band of his pajama bottoms and got to work, rubbing his palm over the length of his cock.

As he jerked off, he tried to keep his thoughts on anyone but Kris, attempting and failing to recall his darker, pre-Kris fantasies. Somehow, everything he pictured in his head transformed into that familiar jaw line, those deep brown eyes, that infuriating signature smirk.

When Adam came, breathless and trembling and feeling like the dirty bastard he was, despite all efforts, it was with a picture of Kris burned against his brain. And when he gently pulled his hand from his pants and looked down, the gold ribbon around his wrist was mocking him and he realized that he was, unequivocally, fucked.

Adam was caught in the hazy moments between awake and asleep when a soft knock on the door roused him to full consciousness. He rubbed his eyes, ignoring the smudged mess of day old makeup he was making then called for the person on the other side to come in.

Slowly, the door creaked open, until there was a large enough space for Kris to poke his head in.

“Are you awake?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Adam groaned, pulling the pillow from behind his head over his face.

Kris grinned and moved into the room, bouncing across the carpet and then hopping onto the bed next to him.

“What time is it?” Adam grumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow as he rolled onto his side to make room for Kris.

“Seven-thirty,” Kris answered. He laid out on the left side of the bed, resting his arms behind his head and crossing his legs at the ankles.

“Too early. Need sleep.”

“Oh, come on. We survived on much less sleep during the tour.”

“Yeah and much less alcohol,” Adam groaned.

Sighing in resignation, he tucked the pillow back behind his head. Bits and pieces of the night before were beginning to surface in his memory, but something self-preserving warned him not to give it much thought. Slowly, he opened his eyes, letting them focus against the harsh sunlight streaming in through the windows. When he’d adjusted, he saw Kris stretched out next to him in an old grey tee-shirt and a pair of blue plaid pajama bottoms. Unexpectedly, his pulse sped just slightly. Internally, he rolled his eyes, but outwardly he looked to conversation in a feeble attempt at distraction.

“So, do you miss it a lot?” he asked, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling.

“Some of it, sometimes,” Kris answered, sighing softly. “You?”

“Some of it, sometimes,” he echoed.

“I miss the crowds.” Kris closed his eyes and Adam imagined the deafening waves of cheers reverberating through the stadiums.

He nodded slowly in agreement.

“I miss the big stage.”

“I miss peeking out at the filling seats before the show.”

“I miss the shitty cramped tour bus and Matt’s horrible snoring.”

“I miss you.”

Adam swallowed thickly and shifted onto his side to face Kris, whose eyes fluttered open slowly.

“I’m here,” he whispered matter-of-factly. “You’re my best friend. That‘s one thing that hasn‘t changed just because the tour is over.” As if to prove the point, Adam lifted his arm, showing Kris the gold ribbon that was still tied securely around his wrist.

“I know,” Kris answered quietly. He turned his head so that his face was only inches from Adam’s; so close that Adam could feel Kris’s warm breath fanning out across the bridge of his nose.

For a moment they were silent, studying each other’s faces in a way that was so intense, Adam felt his breath hitch. Then Kris twisted his head back forward and sighed.

“I don’t want you to go back to L.A.”

Adam’s jaw fell open, but he didn’t know what to say. If he was being honest, he didn’t want to go back to L.A. himself, but he certainly wasn’t about to throw away his recording contract and take up residence in the Allen’s spare bedroom in Arkansas. So, when he did speak, it was the truth.

“I have to. But I‘ll only be a phone call away, you know.”

Kris nodded and clasped his fingers together over his chest.

“It’s just that-” he started, but let the end of the sentence trail off unfinished.

“It’s just what?” Adam was both shocked and terrified when his arm moved on its own accord. Without consciously deciding to do so, his right hand came to rest over Kris’s.

“I don’t want you to leave this bed. I don’t want you to leave this room. It’s not just L.A., it’s me in general. I don’t want you to leave me. When you’re here, I just feel better. Like I‘m me. Like there is somebody that gets it.”

Adam sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth and bit down hard. Something familiar in his chest stirred and then flickered, like the last licks of flame of a campfire in the rain. Then he swallowed hard and something unexpected escaped from between his lips.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

What? Had he really just said that? And more importantly, was it out of line?

No, of course not. Kris had just asked him not to leave.

Kris. Had. Just. Asked. Him. Not. To. Leave.

Suddenly, Adam was desperate to remember exactly what the hell had happened last night. A sense of dread began to form in the pit of his stomach as the questions flipped through his mind.

What did we do?

What did he say?

What does this mean?

He remembered a blonde, zealous waitress and getting a phone call from Neil. He remembered a cab ride and champagne.

Oh, hell, there had been champagne?

Suddenly, he felt Kris lift one of his fingers up to wrap around his and the dying flame deep in his core roared with new vigor, igniting his insides with a fiery glow. He was certain his heart was visibly beating out of his chest as the memory of his late night bathroom rendezvous broke through his brain static. After that, the entire night seemed to come together in his head, all the pieces fitting together in an elaborate jigsaw, and he certainly would have blushed - if Adam Lambert blushed. Instead he cringed and his stomach pulled into a tight, sickening knot.

“Boys?”

Adam yanked his hand free, bolting upright so quickly his head spun. Beside him, Kris attempted to do the same, rolling to the side so fast he tumbled down off the bed onto the floor with a grunt.

In the door way, Mrs. Allen shook her head and laughed. “Come on down to the kitchen. Have a piece of pie before Adam has to get going. Don‘t you have to be back in Memphis by eleven, hon?”

Adam’s heart was still ricocheting around in his chest, though now for a much different reason. His throat felt like cotton, and he knew no intelligible words would find their way through so he just nodded, a little over-enthusiastically.

Kris popped up over the side of the bed, a guilty grin dashed across his face.

“Okay mama, be right there.”

For a moment she eyed him suspiciously, and Adam held his breath in terror, but then she chuckled and shook her head again, before turning and disappearing down the hall.

“Well, fuck!” Adam breathed as soon as he was sure she was out of earshot, the air coming out from his lungs in a long whoosh. “Kris, I-”

“Come on,” Kris interrupted, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’ve got to get on the road.”

“Right,” Adam answered automatically, feeling and hating that the atmosphere in the room had changed so drastically.

The smile on Kris’s face had been replaced by a thin, tight line and his eyes darted around the room, coming to rest everywhere except Adam’s. When he sighed finally and turned and left the room, Adam followed him silently down the hall and into the kitchen, feeling all kinds of conflicted confusion.

With valiant effort, he managed to politely decline the pie. Mrs. Allen was having none of it at first, but his stomach wasn’t feeling up to much more than a dry piece of toast and Kris’s standoffish behavior made it clear that his welcome had been worn out. It was understandable. They both had their careers to get back to. Having two days off had been a gift, a rare gift.

They all stood in the kitchen to say their goodbyes, Kris leaning against the counter looking everywhere but at Adam. Katy had her arms wrapped around his waist, making him promise to come stay again soon before she released him. He thanked the Allens for having him and reiterated what a great time he’d had and how wonderful Mrs. Allen’s cooking had been. Then it was slightly awkward and silent until Kris pushed away from the counter and picked up one of the suitcases by Adam’s feet. Without saying a word, he nodded towards the front door. Adam picked up the remaining bag, said a final farewell and followed him out the front.

He popped the trunk of the Ferrari and Kris tossed in the suitcase he’d taken, then shoved his hands in his back pockets and leaned against the bumper, looking at the driveway. Adam sighed and shook his head, exasperated by the situation, before depositing the second bag.

“So, thanks for shacking me up,” Adam said, slamming the trunk closed.

Kris nodded, but didn’t lift his eyes.

“You’re welcome. I’m happy you came.”

He didn’t sound happy.

“We’ll see each other soon, okay?” Adam tried, pulling his keys out from the pocket of his jacket.

“Yeah?” Kris looked up then and Adam could see the warring emotions fighting in his features. Reading Kris was easy, but understanding was difficult. He titled his head, curiously.

“Yeah.”

Biting his bottom lip, Kris nodded slowly and pulled his hands out from his back pockets. He rubbed his eyes then let his arms fall and, without thinking, Adam pulled him into a hug.

“Soon,” he whispered, and Kris pushed his face into Adam’s shoulder, squeezing him tightly.

When they broke away, Adam was relieved to see Kris’s lips pulled into a small smile. It looked a bit forced, but it was better than nothing, and until Adam could wrap his head around the situation, it would do. He climbed into the front seat, hesitating before pulling the door closed and sticking the key into the ignition. They waved to each other from opposite sides of the window and although he hated leaving things feeling so wrong, Adam started the car. Kris didn’t wait for him to pull out before turning, walking up the front and disappearing into the house and, worse, he didn’t look back once.

Adam sighed and pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. He noticed then that the gold ribbon Kris had tied around his wrist last night was still there and without a second thought, he tugged at the knot until it gave way.

At first he moved to jam it in his pocket, but then decided on a more dignified spot. Hunching forward, he tied the ribbon around his key ring that dangled from the ignition, being sure the knot was secure and tight. He touched it thoughtfully and remembered the promise that had come with the simple golden ribbon, and decided he was holding Kris to it. Then with a sigh, he pressed the brake and shifted the car into reverse.


	3. Forgive or Forget

Adam’s phone buzzed just as he was laying down for bed. It was on a silent setting, otherwise he would have recognized the ring tone immediately as Kris. They hadn’t spoken in a week, not since Kris had called him, on Mrs. Allen’s orders, to make sure he arrived safely back in Memphis. It wasn’t an abnormal amount of time for them to go without talking, especially not with all the album promotion going on, but the way they’d left things made Adam uneasy.

So, when he lazily picked his cell phone off the nightstand, he practically injured himself from how fast he pressed the call key and brought the phone to his ear.

“Kris! Hey!”

“Hey, Adam!” Kris answered, and Adam felt his heart sink a little when he recognized the forced enthusiasm. He should have known things would be weird, though in this moment he was simply grateful he hadn‘t chosen that night to tell Kris about Drake‘s accusations. Now, it was almost pathetic how valid they were, and Adam couldn’t bear to imagine how much more uncomfortable that shared information could have made things.

He sighed. He had to fix this, to put Kris’s mind at ease.

“Are things weird?” Adam asked, wondering where tell-it-like-it-is, upfront Adam had been hiding lately. “They shouldn’t be weird.”

He heard Kris sigh into the phone.

“No, they aren’t weird,” he answered, though his tone was unconvincing.

“Listen, it was the alcohol. We were just drunk and dicking around.” Adam slapped a palm against his face, regretting his word choice. “I mean, trust me, Allen. You’re not really my type.”

Blatant lie.

“Adam, come on. That’s a lie.”

For a second, Adam thought he’d accidentally spoken his thoughts out loud and the pause that followed didn‘t make things any clearer, but then Kris was sputtering into the phone, stuttering as he backtracked.

“I-I mean…you know, I just-I just read…according to the tabloids.”

Adam ran his fingers through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Kris, the tabloids? Didn‘t your mother teach you to ignore those gossip rags? Seriously? I‘ve already told you that nothing happened.”

“Except almost getting caught by my mom!” Kris hissed into the phone. “Nothing happened? I felt like I was fifteen again. I’m an adult, Adam.”

“I feel fifteen again, too,” Adam said softly, unsurely, because he did. He was oddly self-conscious and confused and his stomach was a butterfly breeding ground. “Wait. What do you mean almost getting caught? We weren’t doing anything.”

Adam was honestly confused. He thought Kris’s unease was due to their drunken sort of flirting and even possibly the cab ride that had skirted the edges of platonic, but not anything else. If Kris was feeling guilty or uncomfortable about something he said or did while sober - well, that was putting a brand new spin on things.

“Hah!” Kris laughed dryly into the phone. “Weren’t we? You think that was okay? It was okay to be doing whatever it was we were doing under my parents roof? With my wife down the hall?”

Adam stiffened against the mention of Katy and felt his stomach lurch. It was a low blow and not just because it was a painful reminder of Kris’s marital status. He liked Katy, a lot, and he figured getting off to thoughts of her straight husband in the bathroom right next to their bedroom was probably doing a piss poor job of showcasing the fact. Adam wasn’t one to be embarrassed ever, but he had to admit if she ever found that out he’d be mortified, among a plethora of other unpleasant things.

“Ok, now I have no idea what you‘re talking about,” Adam sighed, trying to remember what had happened that morning. There was the hand grab, and although at the time, Adam had been horrified, it was only meant as a calming gesture, a way to further prove that he was there for Kris. Of course, Kris had also launched into an unexpected admission that he didn’t want Adam to leave, but even that was innocent enough. Adam knew how difficult the music career track was, and even he could admit that being around Kris made things much more bearable - no romance or physical attraction involved. Unless…

“You know what? Forget I said anything,” Kris answered, his voice seeming more at ease. “Things aren’t weird. You just should have called me when you got back to L.A.”

“Or you could have just called me. You knew I was flying back in on the thirtieth.” Adam was more than happy to forget, for now. Things were far too complicated and he had too much on his plate as it was. And of course, there was that strange, ever present underlying fear that Adam had no intention what so ever of even beginning to understand.

“Well, I called you last, so it was your turn.”

“My turn? Are you sure you’re not fifteen?” Adam snickered, picturing the blush that was surely coloring Kris’s cheeks. “Besides, you can’t even count that because your mom was on your ass to call, if you want to play that game.”

“Well, I didn’t want to bother you,” Kris snipped.

“Bother me?” Adam repeated. “You didn’t want to bother me?” He emphasized the word ‘bother’ the second time, shaking his head even though Kris couldn’t see him.

“I just-”

Adam heard Kris sigh, slow and deep, and then there was silence. This conversation was awkward at best and he couldn’t help but wonder why Kris was acting so strange. In Adam’s mind they hadn’t acted any different than they had on tour, crammed onto the bus with no entertainment but themselves. He hoped he hadn’t crossed any lines or made Kris feel uncomfortable, though the way Kris was talking made him sound more guilty than accusatory.

Kris sighed a second time then spoke. This time his voice was softer and less serious.

“I just know you’ve been extra busy being a super, iconic, rock sex god lately and I’m not familiar with the sleep schedule of rock sex gods.”

“You think I’m a sex god?” Adam teased, pushing all previous speculation out of his mind and focusing on being genuinely happy to be back to their comfortable banter, even though the unanswered questions his brain had dredged up were causing a hopeful flutter in the pit of his stomach.

Kris’s response came in the form of a muffled crash, an ‘umph’ and a whispered curse. Adam felt an eyebrow lift curiously as an involuntary smirk played across his lips.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing!” Kris muttered, though Adam could still hear him shifting around.

“Kris, where are you?”

He heard Kris sigh deeply.

“In the hall closet.”

“What? You’re-what?” Adam sputtered into the phone as he laughed heartily, ; twisting on the couch as his shoulders shook. “Well, isn’t that fucking rich? Very adult of you.”

“Shut up. It’s late. Everyone’s asleep.”

Adam stifled a yawn at the mention of sleep and sighed, his eyes growing heavy.

“So, did you call just to bitch at me from the closet or was there something specific you wanted?”

There was a stretch of silence and Adam could clearly picture Kris, chewing on his lower lip in hesitation. It was an adorable habit, and Adam couldn’t help but smile.

“Well?”

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Kris blurted out. “I mean, I’m sure you won’t be in the area, but my parent’s do a real nice spread and they…I wanted to invite you.”

To anyone unfamiliar with Kris’s tendency to mumble, the words would have been unintelligible. Adam, however, was well-versed, though it didn’t help him when it came time to respond. His jaw worked as he opened and closed his mouth, but no sounds came out. To say he was caught off guard was an understatement…

Misinterpreting the silence, Kris cleared his throat.

“I mean, I’m sure you’ve got a ton of other offers and places you’d rather be. I just thought…it might be a rough time without Drake around. And, you know, maybe-”

Adam’s brain finally kicked into gear as Kris backtracked, rambling on nervously in the background.

“Kris,” he interrupted. “I’d love to. I mean, it’s…it’s just that, well, I’m Jewish, you know?” he laughed lightly. “And Neil and I usually spend the holiday with my mom. And then there‘s this party appearance I kind of committed to…”

“Oh, yeah. Of course,” Kris answered, a bit over-enthusiastically. “Listen, I’m going to get out of the closet and go to bed.”

Adam closed his eyes and leaned his head back, pounding the heel of his palm against his forehead. His frustrations, however, went unsaid.

“Alright. Call me later in the week, okay? Let me know how the album signing goes.”

“Ok. Goodnight, Adam.”

“Goodnight, Kris.”

When the line went dead, it took everything in him not to hurl the phone across the room. Whatever was happening, whatever was going on, was severely fucking with his head. Adam had endured many an unrequited crush in his life time and this one should have been no different. He should have been able to deal with it, compartmentalize the feelings and remove himself from the emotions. He sure as hell was not sacrificing his friendship with Kris over an innocent, non-threatening crush - not on Idol, not now, not ever.

The calls started coming at exactly six-fourteen in the morning. The sheets were still tangled awkwardly around Adam’s legs from yet another restless night and his eyes were crusted with smudges of makeup he hadn’t bothered removing the night before. A steady series of buzzing eventually woke him, and groaning, he fumbled around blindly on the nightstand searching for his phone.

When his fingers met the familiar plastic case, he grabbed it and pulled it onto the bed, squinting down at the flashing screen.

_27 Missed Calls_

Sighing, but not actually alarmed, he poked at the keypad, revealing the list of numbers he had missed - a handful from the label, most from his P.R. rep and a few from his mom. He was more annoyed than anything, wondering what possible crisis could be so urgent before dawn. It wasn’t until he saw a familiar, unnamed number that he started to become slightly anxious - Drake’s.

He didn’t know which call to return. The only thing scarier than the unknown was choosing who would deliver enlightenment. It dawned on him then that the one person he would easily pick was missing from the list of missed calls.

It was the revelation that Kris’s number was absent that sent him into a panic, his mind immediately presuming the worst. Without hesitation he called his mom, closing his eyes as the other line rang deafeningly in his ear.

“Adam?”

Unconsciously, he felt himself relax. Her voice was tired, which was expected at the early hour, but there was no hint of doom or palpable sadness. He breathed.

“Adam, honey, are you okay?

“Mom, I’m fine. What’s going on?” he asked, sitting up and untangling himself from the bed sheets.

“I guess you haven’t turned on E! yet this morning?”

He sighed in exasperation at her question in answer to his.

“No. I wasn‘t even actually awake until I got bombarded with phone calls.”

“Ok, well, I guess I’ll be the one to warn you then,” she answered, her voice gentle despite his growing annoyance. “Drake talked to the media - a magazine or something. It’s all blown out of proportion, really. He mentioned your break up, and somehow Kris came up in the interview-”

But Adam wasn’t listening anymore. He reached across the bed and grabbed the remote, flicking on the TV and flipping to the Entertainment channel.

As Adam watched, squinting in the harsh glow of the television, he saw a picture of him and Drake materialize on the screen. Cocking an eyebrow curiously, he increased the volume.

_"Drake LaBry, ex-boyfriend of up-and-coming musical progeny Adam Lambert, stopped by to talk with us exclusively about his new man, his new career path and the real reason for the breakup. Ryan has the story."_

The photo of him and Drake, walking hand in hand out of a chic Hollywood restaurant, split down the middle. As the two pieces faded, two new pictures appeared - one of Drake and some pretentious-looking, Bohemian dressed guy Adam didn't recognize and one of him and Kris, staring at each other from across the stage.

_"Thanks, Gulianna."_ The camera panned left and Ryan was now on the screen. He cleared his throat, and if Adam wasn't positive he got off on this shit, he'd think he almost looked apologetic.

_"The media has been buzzing over the highly publicized friendship between American Idol Winner, Kris Allen, and runner-up Adam Lambert for months, though the speculation that it is something more has never been confirmed - until now."_

What? Confirmed?

He must have made a strange noise in his throat because suddenly his mother’s voice was distracting him from the image of Drake, sitting stiffly on a couch across from Ryan while the headline "tonight at seven" scrolled across the screen.

"Adam? Hon?"

"Yeah? Yeah, what? What the-?"

Adam couldn't seem to create coherent conversation. He knew it shouldn't bother him. He should have been able to roll his eyes and shake his head, just as he'd done all the other times the media sensationalized the crush, but for some reason his throat was constricting and his stomach was flopping around sickeningly.

"He isn't even good looking," he heard his mom say sympathetically.

Taken aback, Adam opened his mouth to argue, surprised at how quickly he jumped on the defensive. Kris was extremely good looking and to say or think otherwise was just ridiculous. But his mom spoke again before he could form the thoughts in his head into words.

"I would think that Drake would have better taste."

Oh, Adam thought, swallowing hard.

After the amount of time they had spent together Adam knew it should bother him that Drake was dating already. The photo of Drake and the pretentious looking Bohemian guy should have affected him more than the old photo of him and Kris gazing at each from across the stage during their New Jersey tour stop. Yet, it didn't. In fact, the entire connection that Drake was in a new relationship had been completely lost on him. Only one thing had caught his attention, only one thing really registered. Kris.

"Yeah, listen Ma, I gotta go," he said quickly, scratching the back of his neck and standing up off the bed.

"Are you okay, Adam?"

He sighed at the concern in her voice.

"Yes, mom, I'm fine. I'll stop by tomorrow, alright?"

"Mm hmm. Call me if you need anything."

"I will. Thanks mom, I love you."

"I love you too, baby."

He ended the call and let out a frustrated groan. He didn't know what to do next so he grabbed a towel off the banister of his bed and headed into the bathroom. Their labels were undoubtedly going crazy right now, judging by the other calls Adam had missed. It didn't surprise him, really. Every time the crush or some sort of speculation over the possibility of romance between him and Kris surfaced, their labels were torn between elation over increased media attention and terror of alienating fan bases.

Adam knew how to respond to these situations, mostly through practice. He would agree to a few interviews, laugh and roll his eyes when they brought it up and then expertly steer the conversation in another direction. He wouldn't confirm it or deny it, choosing rather to appear as though the topic wasn't worth the dignity of an answer, and all camps would be pleased. It was textbook, and although an unexpected part of his new found fame, something he'd grown accustomed to.

Yet, for some reason, as he turned the water on in the shower, scalding hot so that billows of steam quickly fogged the glass, and pulled off his blue pajama bottoms, there was a nervousness he couldn't shake. He stepped carefully under the stream of water, arching away slightly as his skin adjusted to the intense heat, then leaned his head back, letting the spray cascade down his face.

This was different. This wasn't something he had full control over. Worse, he'd lied to Kris about the break up in the first place. This was an accusation, not an admission. No one would need him to confirm or deny anything. They had a separate source with a juicy story and there was no doubt they would take the chance to run with it.

Imagining Kris’s small front lawn in Conway teaming with vicious paparazzi, Adam punched the tiled shower wall with the side of his fist. Bubbling with anger and nowhere to channel it, he switched his attention to Drake.

What was he thinking?

But as the water began to cool, so did Adam, though even in his rage he couldn’t make himself believe that Drake was responsible. Adam didn’t even need to see the interview. He knew how these things played out. Drake probably made a reference to Kris being there for Adam and the media latched on, pushing until he broke and said what they wanted him to say.

And even if by a miniscule chance Drake was unprompted, there was still someone else who deserved the bulk of the blame.

Himself.

Sure, the paparazzi would still be on them in full force and, yes, the incessant questioning would begin again, but if he’d been honest from the beginning at least they would be somewhat prepared.

Adam grabbed the soap and washed quickly, his teeth beginning to chatter as the warm water ran out. There was only one thing to do. He had to call Kris. He figured, while he was at it, it might be as good a time as any to admit that it wasn’t exactly _all_ bullshit. If he was going to lay his cards on the table, he might as well do so with a flush. Bluffing just wasn’t going to cut it anymore.

Adam called Kris six times that morning. Four times it rang until he reached the voicemail. The final two times it no longer rang at all. Immediately a robotic female voice directed him through the messaging system.

Kris’s phone had died, he assured himself, though a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach disagreed. There was a chance he had shut it off, but Adam wasn’t ready to venture down that avenue. He didn’t want to even begin trying to decipher what that could mean.

Over the course of the afternoon he called four more times, to no avail. He spent the day pacing around the empty house, dodging calls from the label and attempting, and failing, to keep himself busy with mundane tasks. Finally, at eight p.m. on the dot, he gave in and left a message asking Kris to please call him back. He didn’t watch Drake’s interview. He didn’t need to. It wouldn’t change anything, other than taking his mood from miserable to more miserable.

At eight-oh-seven, his cell phone buzzed and he practically broke his neck diving across the kitchen table to retrieve it. Without remembering to check the call, he answered, strangling out a breathless, “hello?”

“Christ, Adam. If you’re busy you didn’t have to answer the phone.”

“What?” Adam swallowed, catching his breath. “Neil? Oh God, shut up, I’m in the kitchen.” Then after a beat he added, “alone.”

“Shame,” Neil sighed.

Adam was tired and his patience had worn thin. He contemplated just hanging up, but then Neil spoke again.

“So, are you hanging in there?”

For some reason, those simple, innocent words from his brother dislodged the lump that had been forming in his throat all day, and he had to move the phone away from his face and take a deep breath to get his emotions in check before answering.

“Did mom put you up to this?” he asked, attempting to keep things light.

“Yes,” Neil answered honestly. “Now, are you okay?”

Adam tore a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m fine. Why is everyone acting like I haven’t been through this a hundred times already? The whole crush thing is really, really getting old.”

There was a pause, then carefully, Neil said, “I meant the whole ‘Drake-on-national-television-with-new-douche-bag-boyfriend’ thing.”

“Oh.” Adam sighed. “Yeah, that. I’m okay with that too.”

Again there was silence and Adam anxiously drummed his fingers against the table, unsure of what else to say.

Luckily, Neil filled the space, probably recognizing Adam‘s evasion of any in depth discussion.

“Well, if you suddenly decide you’re not okay…with any of it, just call me. Alright?”

“Alright.”

Adam didn’t wait for a formal goodbye. Thoroughly irritated and exhausted, his nerves frayed, he ended the call, then leaned all the way forward so that his cheek rested against the table. His fingers itched to call Kris for the umpteenth time, but even in his borderline-desperate state he knew that was pushing it. With a groan, he pushed the phone across the table, hoping to quell the temptation.

When he woke the next morning, everything hurt. It didn’t take long to figure out why - he was still sitting, hunched over the kitchen table. He stretched his neck to the side, inhaling sharply when pain shot down from the base of his skull. As he turned his head left and right, attempting to loosen the muscles, he noticed his cell phone down at the end of the table, blinking to alert him of missed calls. Aiming at nonchalance, though only to convince himself, he stood and walked slowly to the other side of the table. He hesitated, then plucked up the phone and scrolled through the numbers he had missed - four from the label, two from his mom, one from Drake, none from Kris. With a curse he opened his fingers and let the phone clatter down against the table.

He was fucked.

It wasn’t the most eloquent thought, but he was tired and sore and frustrated.

He called Kris an innumerable amount of times in the week that followed, but he never answered or called back and Adam became discouraged. Luckily, his album dropped and the whirlwind of promotions and interviews and appearances that went with it kept his mind occupied. He still found the time to call every other day or so, but he stopped leaving messages. The days dragged on and the weather became increasingly cooler. When he wasn’t sitting on the couch of a late night talk show or flying across the country for a photo shoot, he was asleep, passed out in unconscious bliss where dreams and delusions provided him with escape.

When he woke up the very first thing he did was check his phone, but none of the missed calls were ever from Kris and, try as he might, that never stopped being disappointing. Hanukkah came, and although his PR had him booked to the minute, he managed to spend two nights with his mom. Then it was back to dodging interview questions about the scandalous crush accusation and spending nights out with people who didn’t hold his interest, much less a conversation. The routine became monotonous, but still he went through the motions, wanting so badly for Kris to call him, but knowing better then to wait.

It wasn’t until December 23rd and a chance phone call with Neil that things changed.

Adam was already in bed when Neil called at nine-thirty and he had intended to ignore the call. He was, however, slightly inebriated and so his finger decided it wanted to press the ‘talk’ key rather than ‘end’. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and brought the phone to his ear.

“What?”

“Someone’s in a fabulous mood,” Neil answered. As usual the background was loud and Adam cursed his phantom finger for taking the call.

“What do you want, Neil?” Adam groaned, rubbing his knuckles against his forehead.

“I’m still in L.A. Come out.”

“No.”

“Adam, come on. Get out of bed, get in that piece of shit Ford and meet me at Nobu. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“No,” Adam repeated.

“Hmm. I’ll even be your wingman tonight,” Neil offered, begrudgingly.

“Hah,” Adam laughed dryly. “I’ll pass.”

Neil let out an exasperated sigh.

“Christ, Adam. What the hell is wrong with you? I don’t know exactly what it is you’re dealing with right now, but pull yourself together. It’s pathetic. You’re really tarnishing my rep as the boring, less awesome Lambert. I‘m losing sympathy lays. Grow a pair and get over it already.”

When the line went dead, Adam knew Neil was right.

This person, this scared, unsure, self-deprecating person who was going through life half-assed was not Adam. That just wasn’t him. Adam was balls-to-the-wall and all about living on the edge and taking chances on the impossible. It was those qualities that had gotten him to this point. It was those qualities that had introduced him to Kris in the first place. It would be a mistake not to follow through with something that had worked so well up until this point.

He was thoroughly tired of ‘not waiting’ and wanting and wrestling with his feelings. No one would ever hold his interest the way Kris did. No one would ever make him feel the way Kris did. The things he had been through with Kris, the journey they’d taken and the subsequent bond that had resulted was something you only found once in your lifetime, if you were even lucky enough to ever find it at all.

If things were really going to be over for them it wasn’t going to be before they even began, because Adam couldn’t live with that. He couldn’t live with the thought of these unsaid feelings tearing him down forever, never knowing what could have been. Was it likely that things would end well? No, but it had been unlikely that a gay, eccentric twenty-six year old guy from Broadway auditioning for Idol as the result of an acid trip during Burning Man would end well, and yet, here he was.

That was his rationalization when he flipped open his phone and called his PR person, telling them rather than asking them for the next few days off, despite his schedule. That was his reasoning when he called the airline and booked a seat on a flight to Arkansas. Kris had, after all, invited him for Christmas.

He spent yet another restless night, tossing and turning anxiously, trying and failing to get a few hours of sleep. Finally, at six in the morning, he gave up, threw the covers off and got to his feet. His flight was not until the next day, but he had something more to do before he could show up on Kris’s doorstep. It was Christmas after all and it would be rude of him to show up empty handed. The decision was easy. He wanted to get Kris something he wanted; something he wanted, but refused himself for all the wrong reasons. Something Kris wanted the way Adam wanted Kris.


	4. Where Keeping Secrets Meets Christmas Spirit

** _ _**

**_ _“...occasionally I wished I could walk through a picture window and have the sharp, broken shards slash me to ribbons so I would finally look like I felt.” - Elizabeth Wurtzel_ _**

**_   
_ **

Adam wasn’t nervous the day he walked into his audition, standing before his childhood Idol, Paula Abdul, and the gruff, cruel Simon Cowell. He wasn’t nervous the night that he and Kris stood side by side on the American Idol stage with Ryan, waiting to hear the results of the finale. He wasn’t nervous the first time he stepped on stage to perform ‘A Whole Lotta Love’ to a sold out arena. He was, however, terrified as he stood outside Kris’s house, clutching a shoddily wrapped guitar case to his chest, trying to block the side with a tear from view.

He’d anticipated the airport being crowded, but he hadn’t anticipated the storm nor the delayed flight. He’d sat on an uncomfortable plastic bench for hours with no luggage except a curiously shaped gift that he had wrapped himself while waiting. It was a shitty wrapping job if he ever saw one and the paper was a ridiculously cheesy cartoon Santa print, but on Christmas it was all that had been left in the airport gift shop. He didn’t have scissors, so he’d had to tear the paper to make it work and bits of luggage stickers were used in place of tape. It was pathetic, really, but it had kept him occupied, even if only for fifteen minutes. By the time he’d gotten on the plane, off the runway and touched down in Arkansas it was dark, and had been for quite a few hours.

The houses on the Allens’ block were brightly lit with Christmas lights and lawn ornaments, all covered in a thick layer of white. The snow crunched underneath his feet as he waved off the taxi driver who was still pulled against the curb and walked up the front steps, his breath coming in visible, white puffs. When he reach the door, he shivered slightly, hesitating.

He’d come all this way and it was now or never.

His fist literally shook as he raised it and he stared at it pathetically, willing it to still before taking a deep breath and knocking.

For thirty seconds, nothing happened and Adam was stuck within the awkward internal struggle of whether he should knock again or not. The question, however, was answered for him ten seconds later when the doorknob jiggled and then the door pulled slowly open.

Kris stood in the doorway in a pair of black jeans and a red polo. Recognition was first to pass over his face followed by confusion as his brows furrowed on his forehead. He looked behind him, back into the house, and for a horrifying second Adam thought he might be reduced to one of those I-don’t-want-you-in-my-house-so-let’s-talk-out-here conversations. But then Kris smoothed his features and backed up.

“Adam! What are you doing here?” he asked, letting Adam pass by him into the living room. He clicked the door closed then spun around and faced Adam with his arms crossed over his chest.

Before answering, Adam looked around the living room to see it had undergone quite a transformation since he’d been here over Thanksgiving. For one, a massive tree now stood in the corner, decorated with glittering rainbow lights and green and red balls, a smiling cherub sitting at the top. Beneath it were a handful of unopened gifts and candy filled stockings, haphazardly stacked around a Nativity scene. There was garland lining the doorframes and miniature snowmen figurines cluttering every available surface. A low stream of Christmas music filtered out from the television which showed a close-up of a crackling fireplace. Everything was warm and colorful and it smelled of cinnamon and pine.

Sighing, Adam shrugged.

“Well, you did invite me for Christmas, didn’t you? Turns out my plans got freed up.”

Kris laughed lightly and glanced at the wall clock.

“You do realize Christmas ended twenty minutes ago, right?”

“Give me a break,” Adam laughed. “I’m, Jewish.”

Kris shook his head, but grinned and Adam felt himself relax a bit. His fingers eased their death grip on the guitar case which reminded him of the large, shoddily wrapped gift he was holding.

“Oh, here.” Adam held the gift out to Kris who lifted an eyebrow curiously then stepped forward.

“What is this?” he asked quietly, taking it from Adam’s out stretched arms.

The shape of the gift left little to the imagination, but Adam ignored the opportunity to make a sarcastic remark. Instead, he looked at the floor and shrugged his shoulders.

“A present.”

Kris looked down at it, cocking his head has he ran his fingers across the crude wrapping, then back up at Adam, biting down on his lower lip.

“Just open it,” Adam laughed, running a nervous hand through his hair. “Stop inspecting my shitty wrapping job.”

Kris smiled and nodded then sat on the couch, placing the gift on his lap. Slowly, he ripped the paper off, crumpling it up into neat balls that he placed on the cushion next to him while Adam vibrated with anxious anticipation. Once the wrapping had been removed, the black guitar-shaped case sat on Kris’s knees.

“Adam-” he started, placing a hand against the shell. He looked up and his eyes locked with Adam’s. For a few short, intense seconds they stared at each other from across the room. Surprisingly, it was Adam who broke his gaze first, shifting his eyes back to the case.

“Will you just open it already?! You‘re going to give me a complex!”

Kris complied, quickly flipping the latches and lifting the top of the case open to reveal what was nestled inside. If he’d had any inkling of what awaited him, he was doing an awfully good job of acting surprised as his jaw dropped and a choking noise escaped from his throat. His eyes flicked up to Adam’s then back down at the guitar as his mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

Adam crossed the room and sank down onto the couch next to him as he pulled the J-45 Gibson Legend out from the shell. Adam reached over and slid the case off his lap, closed it and set it on the floor next to their feet.

“Adam, what’s wrong with you? Why did you-…you shouldn’t have done this. You shouldn’t have…wow.” He ran his fingers gently over the strings, over the wood, and turned so that his whole upper body faced Adam. “Seriously, this is too much.”

Adam was listening, but only barely. The sounds of his own thoughts were loud and refusing to be ignored. He needed to come clean. He needed to fulfill his purpose in coming here. Balking up all the courage he could find, he fidgeted his fingers in his lap and focused on keeping his breath even. Then, steeling himself, he spoke.

“Kris, I-”

“No, Adam, wait.” Kris interrupted him and he snapped his mouth shut, both surprised and irrationally relieved. He swallowed slowly while Kris hugged the guitar to his chest and closed his eyes.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I’ve been distant.”

“Distant?” Adam echoed dryly and Kris winced. Distant was the far removed cousin of what Kris had been. They hadn’t spoken in a month, despite Adam’s numerous attempts. “Did you get my calls?”

Kris swallowed and nodded sheepishly, looking down.

“I’m sorry. I just…”

He trailed off and Adam leaned closer, silently coaxing him on. There was so much waiting on the other side of that ‘just’ that Adam began jiggling his leg to relieve some of his anxiousness. Unexpectedly, Kris pressed the guitar into Adam’s arms.

“I can’t take this. I was an ass. I should have called you.”

Adam’s leg stilled and he looked down at the rejected guitar, feeling his heart grow heavy in his chest.

“Why didn’t you?” he whispered.

Kris stood then and jammed his hands into his pockets, staring at the tree as the colored lights flashed in a hypnotizing pattern.

“I don’t know, honestly. I guess I just got freaked out.”

“You know the whole crush thing was just being blown out of proportion again, right?”

The words had left Adam’s mouth before he had a chance to stop them, and he felt his shoulders sag. He didn’t know why he’d said them, not when he’d intended to come here and tell Kris the truth. It was an automatic response, one that he’d been saying since the very first day it became an issue. Only, now he realized he hadn’t really been trying to convince Kris as much as he’d been trying to convince himself.

“I know,” Kris answered, touching a gold tree ornament thoughtfully. “It wasn’t that. I mean, that was part of it, I guess. I don‘t know.”

He turned back around to face Adam, his face etched with confusion and the slightest trace of pain.

“Me and Katy have been having problems,” he said stiffly, looking down at the guitar case by Adam‘s feet.

There were a lot of scenarios Adam had mentally prepared himself for when he finally decided to show up on Kris’s doorstep unannounced, but that wasn’t one of them. He was glad Kris wasn’t looking at him, as it gave him time to recompose himself and remove the shock he was sure must have been obvious on his face. He cleared his throat and ran a hand roughly through his hair, which promptly flopped back down over his forehead.

“Since when?” he asked, because he had no idea what the appropriate response was in these types of situations. “Being There For Your Straight, Unavailable Crush In The Face Of His Possibly Dissolving Marriage” was one of the few self-help books he had yet to add to his collection.

“Right before Thanksgiving,” Kris answered, and all at once the pieces fell into place.

Everything that had happened between them over the past month became clear - all the guilt Kris had felt, all of his reaching out and then pushing away, all of his investment in Adam being okay after Drake - it all made sense.

“How are things now?”

Adam knew that his feelings wouldn’t be professed tonight, and the relief conflicting with the crushing disappointment was making him feel slightly nauseous. He was also wrestling with how his feelings should be affected by this new development. Any real, selfless person would be in pain knowing their best friend was hurting, yet a small part of him was actually slightly ecstatic. The addition of self-disgust made his stomach feel even sicker.

“Better.” Kris walked back over to the couch and sank down, as though the admission had exhausted him. “We’re working on it, quietly. The last thing I need is the tabloids getting wind of the situation. I can’t stand having my name in the headlines over stupid crap having zero to do with me as an artist.”

Adam flinched and Kris immediately apologized for the dig.

“Sorry. I mean, the whole crush thing is nothing compared to my problems with Katy being smeared across the gossip mags.”

Adam knew Kris meant that in the best way possible, but for some irrational reason the thought of Kris being more protective over Katy than him made his heart crack just a little. Feeling oddly torn, Adam pushed the guitar back onto Kris’s lap.

He cleared his throat and said softly, “I forgive you.”

Because he did. He could never actually be mad at Kris anyway, but he felt like he needed to say it for Kris’s sake. He forgave him, for the slight, but more so for the not calling.

Kris seemed to get the message. He nodded and righted the guitar against his chest.

“Really, Adam, you shouldn’t have done this. I feel like an ass. If I knew you were coming I would have gotten you something.”

“Oh, please. Let’s just say you owe me.”

And as Kris strummed a few chords and then fiddled with the tuners, Adam received a few choice visuals as to just how Kris could repay him.

“So, are you recording down here again?” Kris asked as he played his fingers across the strings.

“What?” Adam stood and stuck his hands into the pockets of his jacket, walking over to inspect a cluster of ceramic penguins sitting atop the television stand. “Oh, no. I‘m just…here.”

Kris tilted his head thoughtfully before understanding contorted his features into surprise.

“I just wanted to see you,” Adam said softly. “I wanted to make sure we were okay.”

“We’re okay,” Kris answered, nodding decisively, though his voice lacked conviction. “We’re okay.”

Adam turned and they smiled at each other from across the room, though Adam’s felt stiff and uncomfortable. He couldn’t help but wonder if the both of them really were okay, and if they were, how long it would last. His mouth pressed into a tight line and he saw Kris’s do the same.

“We’re okay,” Adam repeated, hoping the words would sound more believable coming from him. They didn’t.

He sighed, and watched Kris fidget on the couch as curiosity edged out his worries.

The way Kris was chewing on his bottom lip, his eyes flicking to Adam and then away just as quickly, was making it obvious that he had something more to say. It was also clear that he was struggling with whether or not to say it. Adam knew the best course of action was to wait quietly while Kris worked himself up.

“How do you do it?” he asked, finally, his voice low as he stared at the ground.

“Do what?” Adam asked, needing further clarification of just what ‘it’ was. There were a lot of things he did and Kris needed to be more specific about the intention of the conversation.

“How do you handle it all? How do you make it look so effortless? How do you deal?”

Adam was taken aback not only by the questions, but also by the slight desperation in Kris’s voice. He was also thrown off guard by the fact that Kris thought he was the more adjusted one. The thing was, Adam didn’t deal. He repressed, he ignored and he rationalized. He focused on music so that he wouldn’t have to deal. But somehow, that worked for him. It didn’t always yield the best results, but it certainly kept him moving along.

“You just have to do what works for you,” Adam answered honestly. “There’s no going back anymore. You just have to keep moving forward.”

“Just keep moving forward,” Kris echoed.

“Yeah. I just focus on the end, rather than the means.” Adam paused and gritted his teeth before adding, “I know what I want. I just have to believe that if I keep going, eventually I’ll get it. And, I guess, I do have some of it already so that validates things. It gives me hope.”

Kris nodded slowly and rubbed a palm against his knee, holding the guitar steady with the other. Again his eyes darted around the room, only just barely meeting Adam’s before being torn away. His jaw clenched and unclenched, and when he closed his eyes Adam knew something big was coming next.

“What if I decided one day that I didn’t want this anymore?” Kris asked, his eyes popping open as he idly drummed his fingers against the guitar.

Adam swallowed.

“This as in what?”

“This. All of this.” Kris opened one free arm and motioned around the living room.

Adam shrugged.

“I guess you could probably buy your parents a new house.”

Kris rolled his eyes before grabbing a throw pillow off the couch and pelting it at Adam who caught it against his chest. Grinning, he tossed it back at Kris.

“You know what I mean,” Kris sighed, his face serious. “Don’t you ever feel trapped? Like it’s something you wanted so badly, and now that you have it you’re stuck with it?”

“No,” Adam answered honestly.

There were a lot of things Adam felt at any given time, but he could never regret the decisions that had lead him here, to American Idol and ultimately to Kris. He had his fair share of issues, but there was no other place in his life he would rather be. At least no place realistic. It was that thought - the realization that even if nothing more ever transpired between him and Kris, he would still choose ‘here’ than any other place in the world - that solidified his feelings. If this was all he could have, if friendship and trust was all Kris could ever offer him, it would be enough. He loved Kris, and having a small part of him would always be better than having no part. He loved Kris.

With a sigh he moved away from the TV, over to the tree where he crouched down and rifled through the gifts before standing again and walking to where Kris sat.

Kris’s face had fallen and he was looking down at the guitar, tracing the curves in the wood with his index finger.

“But,” Adam said, plopping down on the couch next to him. “Did you ever consider maybe this isn’t what you really wanted?”

Kris looked up, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. He seemed to think hard before responding.

“But I love music, and I love performing.”

Adam nodded in agreement, then motioned around the room with his arms, as Kris had done minutes earlier.

“Music is a very small part of…all of this.

Shrugging, Kris brought his fingers down across the strings of the guitar. He strummed a few random chords then sighed.

“I’m just overwhelmed, I guess. I can’t seem to get my head above water. I feel like I should be happy. And, honestly, it‘s not that I‘m necessarily unhappy. It‘s just that I‘m…”

“Content,” Adam finished unexpectedly, sucking air into his lungs as soon as the word left his lips. A memory flashed by, one he hadn’t realized he’d saved. He sat next to Kris on a pleather cab seat, his pulse pounding in his ears, though the words filtered through, loud and clear - _“they’d know that I’m happy around you. They’d make us be around each other so I could be happy again.”_

Their eyes locked and Kris cocked his head slightly before nodding.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. I’m just content. But content is ok, right?”

Adam knew his hand was shaking, but it was so slight he hoped Kris wouldn’t notice. Slowly, he extended his arm and opened his palm flat, revealing what he had retrieved from beneath the tree - a thin green ribbon.

Kris stared at it and Adam could see the movement in his throat as he swallowed.

“I just thought…,” Adam mumbled, scratching the back of his neck with his other, empty hand, “so you don’t forget. You’ve always got someone. Someone swimming in the same pool, someone to help you stay above the surface. I know it‘s not red-”

“Or string,” Kris supplied, sounding oddly breathless.

Adam pressed his lips together and simply nodded, taking each end of the ribbon between a thumb and forefinger then holding it up, offering it to Kris.

Without hesitation, Kris stuck his arm out, placing his wrist over the trimming so Adam could tie it securely in place. Once he had done so, Kris returned his fingers to the strings of the guitar and began playing, a melancholy tune that Adam didn’t recognize. Leaning his head back against the couch, Adam breathed; letting the music slow his heart and clear his mind. Only one thought looped repetitively, the lyrical epiphany to Kris’s music: I love him.

Kris had insisted Adam stay in the guest room, even if only until morning, but Adam was unwavering in his decision to get back to L.A.. He had to be in the studio by five and he was actually looking forward to the plane ride as a chance to clear his head. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally and he wasn’t sure he wanted to explain his unexpected presence to the entire Allen family, even though he knew they wouldn‘t mind in the least.

As it was, he spent most of the night with Kris, listening to him play, talking about inconsequential things and silently agreeing to avoid the heavier topics. Around three a.m. they polished off a tin of Mrs. Allen’s sugar cookies and a quart of milk and then Kris got Adam’s approval on the four shockingly non-plaid shirts his brother had given him for Christmas.

It reminded Adam of the late nights during tour, when they would lie across from each other in their bunks, Kris throwing pink Starbursts over to Adam, because they were the only color he liked, talking and laughing and sharing their hopes for the future. It was bittersweet, knowing how far they’d had come, while recognizing they would never return to those naïve, easy times.

Before he left, they hugged and Adam could swear Kris clung to him just a tiny bit tighter than normal, though it easily could have been wishful thinking on his part. And as he trudged through the snow towards the cab waiting at the curb, he tossed a wave over his shoulder at Kris who was watching from the door, he could swear Kris looked just a tiny bit sadder than any other time they had parted ways, though again, it could have been more wishful thinking.

After he climbed into the backseat of the taxi and the driver pulled away, leaving Kris and his opportunity to confess his feelings in the distance, only one thought plagued his brain.

What now?

**December 27, 2009**

The day after Adam got home from Conway, fate stepped in in the form of Robert Cavallo and a second opportunity in Memphis at the studio he’d recorded in just before Thanksgiving. Apparently they were pitching a song for another soundtrack and wanted to test it with Adam’s vocals. It was last minute, he would have to be there by nine am on the 31th and there would only be that single session to decide if he got the song.

Adam didn’t hesitate to say yes. The chance to record the track was all well and good, but being back in Memphis meant being closer to Kris and even though he was feeling a bit spoiled, any opportunity to see Kris was one he was taking. This time, however, he decided to forgo the plane tickets. He needed to do some serious reevaluation and the best way he saw to do so was to drive. It would take him about twenty-six hours if he drove straight through, but it would afford him the solitude and the fresh air and the freeing feeling he needed to decide where things would go from here. Obviously, his visit on Christmas hadn’t gone as planned and the knowledge that Kris and Katy’s marriage was on the rocks complicated things. He sort of hated all this scheming really, but he hated the unrequited wanting more.

The drive was both beneficial and absolutely disappointing. It was the longest trip he’d made in the Mustang and it was nice to let her out on an infinite stretch of open freeway, but the idea that he’d have a sudden movie-esque epiphany while cruising was debunked early on. Despite the gorgeous scenery and the fresh air, he was having a more frustrating time than ever trying to figure out what to do next. There was the obvious choice of forgetting the whole thing, reburying his feelings and focusing on his music, but that was far too simple. Adam took risks and this was a huge one. The masochist in him was not backing down.

When he reached the hotel on the morning of the 30th, he was just as confused as ever and exhausted on top of it. He stumbled into the room they were shacking him up in for the next two days and all but face planted onto the bed. As he rolled over to get comfortable, something on the nightstand caught his eye.

It was your average hotel entertainment guide, listing various restaurants and places of interests, but it laid open, a glossy page of bright pinks and purples piquing Adam’s curiosity. He leaned over and grabbed the three-ring book and pulled it onto the bed.

The page was an advertisement for a club called Senses and it was promoting their annual New Year’s Eve party. It was exactly the type of scene Adam could see himself in pre-Idol, with pictures of brightly lit bars, eclectic furniture and a large DJ booth. Unfortunately, he hadn’t done much partying as of late, what with being so busy and the shortage of applicable company, but a plan was beginning to formulate in his seriously sleep-deprived brain.

Closing the book and his eyes, he gave into exhaustion, letting his mind warp his dreams into pictures of a dimly lit club with a strong bass thrumming the air, a cocktail in one hand and an arm around the waist of a very specific Arkansas native.

When he woke up a few hours later, it was dark, though he was used to having a screwed up sleeping schedule by now. He rolled over with a groan and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, checking the time.

_8:36_

He wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing when his index finger flipped open his cell phone, but he didn’t hesitate long before holding down the one key. Once the call connected, he brought it to his ear, drumming his fingers anxiously on the bed. He didn’t have to wait long; he was surprised when Kris picked up on the first ring. It was a relieving change.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Kris!” Adam answered enthusiastically, surprised by the obvious nerves in is voice. “What’s up?”

“Not much. Just got back from the studio. You?”

Adam chewed his bottom lip anxiously before answering.

“I’m actually back in Memphis. Cavallo’s got me testing vocals on some cheesy soundtrack. It was last minute.”

“Oh, really? That’s awesome!”

“Yeah.” Adam looked down at the hotel entertainment guide and the bright, glossy advertisement.

Honestly, what was he thinking? Was he really considering asking Kris to come spend New Year’s Eve with him in Memphis? Was that where this was headed?

With a sigh and a shake of the head, Adam closed the book and tossed it back on the nightstand. Besides the fact that a place like Senses would put Kris completely out of his element, Adam was sure he already had plans.

“So,” Kris asked, his voice nonchalant, “how long are you staying?”

“Not long,” Adam answered. “I’ve got a studio slot at nine tomorrow. It will probably be a few hours and then I’ll start the drive back to L.A.”

“Drive?” Kris questioned, sounding incredulous.

“Yeah. I thought it was about time to let the Mustang stretch her legs.” Adam said, omitting the part about needed the space to contemplate his moral dilemma.

“Wow. And here I thought she’d never leave your driveway,” Kris teased.

Adam laughed.

“That’s where she belongs. Safe. Away from things that cause dents and scratches.”

“So no big New Year’s Eve plans? No fabulous appearances or anything? You‘re really going to spend it driving across the country?” Kris sounded skeptical.

“No to the first part and yes to the last part. I’m just not into it this year,” Adam answered truthfully.

“Oh.”

The conversation was suddenly sounding pointless and Adam felt stupid for calling in the first place.

“Yeah, I just had some free time and thought I’d give you a call and see how things were. I’m going to call it an early night,” he lied.

“Oh, alright. Call me when you get back to L.A. then?”

Adam exhaled, feeling a crushing disappointment he didn’t understand.

“Yeah, definitely.”

The night dragged on, lonely and boring, and Adam’s attempts to distract himself with movies and room service failed miserably. He knew the number one reason he’d come down here was to see Kris and it occurred to him just how screwed up his priorities had become. The sleep he found somewhere just before dawn was restless, but nothing new and as usual his fragmented dreams were filled with things he wanted but was beginning to accept he would never have.

The session had been shit, for lack of a better term. Adam couldn’t concentrate and he kept fumbling over the lyrics. His high notes were off key and his lower register was gravelly. No feelings spared, Cavallo was blunt: thank you but no thank you.

All he cared about doing was getting back to L.A. and re-evaluating his life. Whatever was happening in his head was beginning to hurt his career and it was psyching him out, which only made matters worse. Life had been so much easier when he lived it in ignorant bliss, before Drake had left and things had blown wide open. He remembered a simpler time when being content wasn’t necessarily the be all and end all, but it was enough.

When he left the studio, his head was down and he was staring at the ground, feeling defeated. He was halfway across the lobby when someone cleared their throat and caused him to look up. For a minute, he didn’t believe his eyes and he blinked rapidly trying to make sense of the vision before him.

Kris was standing by a small waiting area with couches and a long coffee table, his hands shoved in his back pockets and an impish grin dashed across his face. Adam watched his throat bob as he swallowed slowly and sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, his hair fluffy and sticking up in all different directions.

“Kris?” Adam asked, taking a step towards him, but still not fully believing his eyes.

“Hey,” Kris answered sheepishly, meeting him halfway.

Adam’s heart was thudding against his ribcage with such force he was sure it was externally visible.

“Are you recording here? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kris looked at the floor and scraped at the carpet with his sneaker, his mouth opening and closing twice before he spoke.

“No, not recording. I’m just…here.”

His eyes flicked up to Adam’s and held there. It was only a few seconds at most, but to Adam it felt like hours; as though that small segment of time had been stretched out like the body of an accordion. Finally, Kris shifted uncomfortably on his feet and broke the stare, moving his gaze back down to the floor.

“How long are you staying? Did you drive?” Adam had a million more important questions, but none of them seemed appropriate. His paralyzing level of surprise wasn’t helping. Kris was here…just here. For him.

“Not long,” Kris answered. “I actually had a car service make the trip. I‘m kind of stranded.”

“Stranded?” Adam repeated dryly, raising a significant eyebrow.

Kris nodded slowly and shrugged, fighting a smile.

“I was thinking you could drop me off on your way back to California.”

Adam studied him, watching the way he forced his lips into a straight, serious line.

“You came all the way here, just for me to drive you back?”

“Well, no.” Kris sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “There’s actually this party back in Conway. A family friend owns a big piece of property. They rent tents and fire pits and have live music. I’ve been going since I was twelve. My mom,” Kris laughed nervously, “makes, like, sixteen of those dump cakes, but I polish off about five of them myself and-”

Adam’s eyebrows had inched all the way up his forehead in amusement and his arms were crossed over his chest as he listened to Kris, whose face suddenly turned a deep shade of red.

“I mean, it is kind of lame, but you said you didn’t have any plans and I knew if I asked you, you’d never come.”

Adam took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, smirking as he watched Kris’s blush spread to his ears.

“No one wants to be alone on New Year’s,” Kris mumbled quietly.

It was definitely not the most tantalizing offer Adam had ever received, but the prospect of spending the holiday with Kris made his stomach do happy summersaults. As for the venue, he had other ideas.

“Ok,” Adam said with a shrug. “I’ll drive you back to Conway.”

The answer must have pleased Kris, because he looked up suddenly, beaming.

“However,” Adam added, “we aren’t going back tonight.”

“What?” Kris sputtered, his eyes growing wide. “Why?”

“It’s time to return a favor. You could use a night out.”

Adam could remember the night back in November when Kris insisted on taking him to that hole-in-the-wall bar with the eager to please waitress and the reappearing beer bottles. It was the same night that Kris had tied a silly gold ribbon around Adam’s wrist and changed the game. Kris had come all this way just to see him and he wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but any possibility of finding out was not going to happen sitting around a fire pit with a plate of dump cake on his lap.

“Adam, I don’t know,” Kris protested, his voice shaking slightly. “I’ve never missed a New Year’s Eve with my parents or Katy and I didn’t bring any clothes.”

“Excellent. We’ll shop.”

Kris’s complaints seemed obligatory and half-assed and it made Adam infinitely more confident in his plan. He reached out and grabbed Kris by the forearm, dragging him out of the lobby while he grumbled at the prospect of a shopping trip.

“I hate shopping.”

Adam laughed and gave him a quick once over as he continued tugging him out into the parking lot.

“I can tell.”

“I hate you, too.”

“I can tell that, too..”

The disaster of a recording session that had occurred less than a half hour ago was completely out of Adam’s mind and no longer affecting his spirits. Kris was here, and for now, that was all he cared about.

“I look ridiculous,” Kris lamented, staring into the bathroom mirror with squinted eyes. “I’m not going.”

Adam laughed as he lifted the collar of his shirt and slid a black, skinny tie around his neck.

“You’re going,” he called from the sitting area of his hotel suite, shaking his head despite the fact that Kris couldn’t see him.

“Am not!”

“Better start walking back to Conway now then,” Adam quipped, snickering when Kris groaned loudly.

They’d spent the remainder of the day shopping, grabbing a quick dinner in the Mall of Memphis food court, where they were promptly accosted by two dozen teenage girls and a questionable amount of much older men. Neither of them managed to finish their Char-grilled Chicken Club Chick-fil-a sandwiches before they tossed their trays and stumbled out of the mall, shell-shocked and vowing to choose more secluded places to dine in the future.

Despite his almost constant string of complaints and pleas, Kris was a good sport, trying on everything Adam picked out and spinning when he was told. There was a lot of laughter at Kris’s expense, but Adam picked up the tab so it all evened out.

When they returned to the hotel, Kris excused himself to call Katy, and when he returned, Adam recognized the lines of tension marring his face before he had a chance to smooth them, though he didn’t ask questions and Kris didn’t offer anything up.

They spent some time watching TV, arguing over channels and whole got to control the remote, but it was easy and comfortable and Adam had to physically restrain himself from sliding closer to Kris on the couch on more than one occasion.

Around eight, Adam forced Kris into the bathroom with a big white shopping bag containing their day’s purchases, despite much resistance and warned him not to come out until he was dressed.

Now Adam stood, pushing his hair back with gel-coated fingers while Kris continued to complain loudly.

“Maybe I’ll just wear my clothes.”

Adam didn’t even bother entertaining the response with an answer and thirty seconds later, Kris stomped out of the bathroom, his brows furrowed in frustration.

Adam turned, and even though he’d seen the outfit on Kris in the store, something about Kris standing in his hotel room in a pair of snug, dark grey jeans and a thin black vest layered over a tight black buttoned shirt, the hem of the sleeves accentuating his biceps made it even more appealing.

He cocked an eyebrow appreciatively and grinned, before looking down at his hands, still coated in sticky gel, and stepped forward.

“What? Adam? No!” Kris protested, but it was too late. Adam pushed his fingers through Kris’s hair, musing it into perfect imperfection so that it stuck up in all the right places.

Adam stepped back and admired his own handiwork with a nod.

“Wait here,” he demanded and Kris rolled his eyes with a defeated sigh.

As Adam escaped to the bathroom to wash his hands he gave himself a silent pep talk. There was no agenda tonight, no pretense. Tonight was about spending time with his best friend; his best friend who he could appreciate looked really, really good in a pair of Marc Jacobs jeans; his best friend who would murder him if he knew how much they’d cost.

Kris had shown up, unannounced, for no other reason than because Adam was here and Adam would be lying if he said that flame in his core didn’t flicker just a little bit brighter at the thought. But this turn of events had been unexpected and didn’t play into any of his plans.

The very last thing he wanted was for Kris to regret coming, and so he planned on riding the evening out and letting the chips fall as they may. He would focus on spending the night with his best friend, instead of the guy who made his heart race and his palms sweaty.

Right.

He dried his hands on one of the white hotel towels on the sink and left the bathroom with a sigh. He stopped and retrieved something from his bag in the bedroom before rejoining Kris.

“Here. Put this on.”

He tossed a silver-studded belt at Kris who caught it, looking down at the strip of leather as if it were some newfangled, foreign contraption he didn’t understand.

“Adam,” he said uncertainly. “Have you seen these pants? I don’t think they’re going anywhere.”

Adam laughed and rolled his eyes, grabbing the belt out of Kris’s hand. Then, unexpectedly, he stepped closer and pulled it through the first loop on Kris’s jeans.

“You know, not everything has to be practical,” he said quietly, his heart in his throat.

They stared at each other for a moment, neither of them seeming to breathe, before Adam got his bearings and stepped back, leaving Kris to fumble with the remaining loops, his cheeks colored with a light blush as he looked down and feigned concentration on the task of securing the belt around his waist.

A simple, uncomplicated night out with his best friend, Adam thought humorlessly. Right.

The club was crowded, just as Adam had expected, but it was void of the usual gang of paparazzi that waited like vultures around every corner of L.A. He’d called ahead, and they were taken through the back and lead to the VIP section to avoid the lines.

The interior of Senses lived up to the glossy advertisement and Adam was pleased. He loved the familiar rush of adrenaline, the electricity igniting his every nerve, his blood pounding in rhythm with the loud beats blaring out from the speakers. It had been far too long since he’d been out like this and he realized he missed it. Idly, he wondered what other sacrifices he’d made since Idol that he didn’t realize he was missing.

From the moment they entered the club, Kris became Adam’s shadow, practically tucked into his side as they moved through the crowd to a section with a private bar marked ‘reserved’. When they sat on a long red couch, fresh cocktails in hand, Kris was so close their thighs were touching and Adam would have either been hyperventilating or at least enjoying it if he didn’t know it was only an indication of how uncomfortable Kris was feeling.

“Are you okay?” he yelled, leaning in to be heard over the music, his face only inches away from Kris‘s.

“Yep,” Kris answered, offering a weak, but brave smile. “Great.”

The buzz Adam had felt upon first entering the club quickly began to fade and in an attempt to replace it, he began downing Mojitos. It was too loud to hold any type of conversation and so he and Kris traded awkward smiles as they sipped their drinks, Kris at a much slower pace. He found himself regretting the coup and wishing they had opted to stay back at the hotel, tucked into the couch, even if he had to be subjected to the cruel and unusual torture that was SportsCenter. He missed this scene and loved the pure energy, but he would choose a quiet evening with Kris over this in a heartbeat.

Ready to write the night off as a disaster, Adam went to the bar to fetch another Mojito. His lofty expectations of showing Kris a good time were being overshadowed by the fact that Kris was completely out of his element. He figured if things were going down in flames he’d be better off not remembering in the morning. When he drove a regretful Kris back to Conway, he’d feel like less of an asshole if his memory was fuzzy.

He had just leaned over to get the waiter’s attention when he felt a hand come down on his shoulder. Started, he spun around.

“Adam?”

It took him a second to recognize the face, given the unexpected location and, if Adam was being honest, the fact that he’d been a pretty shitty about keeping in touch with his friends as of late, but as soon as he did, he grinned wide, pulling the other man into a hug.

“Cassidy! What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I had a few shows in Memphis and I’ve got a few friends who live here.” He nodded towards a group down at the other end of the bar and Adam was hit with an unexpected wave of nostalgia. They were all laughing and chatting, dressed in extravagance and looking like they could have owned the place.

Adam had been a part of a group like that once, before Idol and record deals and recording contacts. It reminded him of a time that was simpler, but not easier. It was a time when life revolved around having fun, getting drunk and struggling to make ends meet.

But he’d traded in that life.

And he wasn’t sorry.

Smiling, he looked over Cassidy’s shoulder to the couch where he had left Kris, only to find it was empty. Panic fluttered in his chest and he looked around the club frantically.

“So, I heard about you and Drake. I’m sorry, man,” Cassidy said sympathetically, calling Adam’s attention.

Adam nodded distractedly, still searching.

“Yeah, thanks. It’s all good.”

Finally, with a sigh of relief, he spotted Kris who was leaning against the bar and staring sullenly into his drink, idly stirring the ice around with a red cocktail straw. He didn’t look particularly sad, just uncomfortable and out of place. Adam smiled then turned his eyes to Cassidy.

“Listen, call me sometime, ok? Let’s get together. It’s been too long.”

Cassidy glanced over his shoulder at the place where Adam’s gaze had lingered, seeing Kris. When he turned back to Adam he was grinning, a knowing twinkle in his eye.

“Yeah,” he agreed, slapping Adam on the shoulder. “Take care of yourself.”

Adam nodded and they shared a smile before Cassidy turned and sauntered back over to his group of friends. Adam scratched the back of his neck and walked over to wear Kris stood looking at the floor.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Kris echoed, looking up. He shifted from one foot to the other, opening and closing his mouth a few times before nonchalantly adding, “Who was that?”

A smug grin broke out across Adam’s face, unexpectedly.

“Just an old friend.”

“Oh,” responded Kris, poking at his ice with his straw.

There was a stretch of awkward silence then, as they both stood in the middle of the crowded club, surrounded by the energy and the baseline. This had been Adam’s element, his place of comfort. Clubs like this housed some of his fondest memories with some of the best friends he’d ever had; friends who accepted his flaws and his quirks.

But now, there was someone new who liked him just the way he was. Someone who didn’t care if he changed, but somehow inspired him to, for the better.

And he would trade all of this in a heartbeat for that person. He would sacrifice the places that felt like home, for that one person that had become his home, his sanctuary and his sanity.

“You’re not having fun,” Adam said, pulling the glass from Kris’s hand and taking a swallow.

“Yes I am,” he answered stiffly, “and that was mine.”

Adam grinned and shrugged, handing him back the drink before crossing his arms over his chest, waiting. Kris rolled his eyes.

“It’s just, this is my first New Year’s Eve without my parents, or Katy. It’s different, but not bad. I like being with you.”

He studied Kris with narrowed eyes, noticing the way he glanced around the room and shifted uncomfortably.

“Alright, that’s it,” Adam sighed, loosening the knot of his tie. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“If we leave now, we can be back in Conway before the ball drops.”

Kris’s mouth hung open for a moment before he pulled himself together and protested, half-heartedly.

“No, Adam, really. This is fine. I’m having a good time.”

Adam cocked an eyebrow and shook his head before grabbing the glass out of Kris’s hand again. This time he drained it and slammed it down on the bar with a smirk.

“Well, I’m not,” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here and get you some dump cake.”


	5. Even Rockstars Wrestle With Regret

“Are you sure you’re ok to drive?” Kris asked nervously, watching Adam spin the key ring around his finger in the club parking lot. “Maybe we should wait.”

“No and no,” Adam answered with a grin. “You’re driving.” He tossed the keys to Kris who caught them awkwardly, his face drawn up in surprise.

“The Mustang?”

“Did we bring another car I don’t know about?” Adam quipped, circling around to the passenger side.

Kris rolled his eyes, but grinned.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I trust you.”

“I trust you, too,” Kris blurted out, the words tumbling over each other as he said them.

They looked at each other over the top of the car for a moment, something unidentifiable passing between them. Adam swallowed, trying to understand his sudden increased heart rate, but the alcohol induced fuzz in his brain was making it hard.

Kris broke the stare first, smiling excitedly in a way that made the edges of his eyes crinkle before pulling open the driver’s side door and sliding in. It was a smile that he saved for Adam; one that Adam had only ever seen directed at him, and he’d spent a lot of time watching Kris. It made something warm and tingly spread out over his skin as he opened his own door.

Adam watched the dark outline of the trees flash by his window as they drove back to Conway. Kris’s hand was resting on the shifter, his thumb drumming along with the beats flowing from the radio. For a fleeting second, Adam had the overwhelming urge to place his own hand over Kris’s, but he quickly pushed the thought out of his mind and directed his attention to the passing scenery.

“So, what are your New Year’s resolutions?” Kris asked, reaching out to turn down the radio.

Adam twisted away from the window to see Kris glance at him expectantly before returning his eyes to the road.

“I don’t do New Year’s resolutions,” Adam answered. “What’s the point? If I’m going to dramatically change my life, there’s going to have to be a better reason then another flip of the calendar. It’s just an excuse for people to make more promises they can’t keep.”

Inadvertently, he glanced over at the ignition where his keys hung, the gold ribbon tangled around the dangling key chains. Then he forced his eyes up to Kris, who was chewing his bottom lip sheepishly.

“I mean, that’s just me,” he added, feeling like a jerk. “I’m jaded and all that shit. What about you?”

Kris sighed and tilted his head.

“It’s nothing big, really. I mean, like you said, resolutions are stupid and no one really sticks to them.”

Internally, Adam kicked himself, feeling horrible for being such a downer.

“Some people do,” he offered, hoping to salvage the conversation. “Just because I suck at them doesn’t mean they never work for anyone else.”

Kris nodded and hesitated thoughtfully before speaking.

“I just want to, I don’t know, take more chances, maybe? I want to do the things that I want to do, just because I want to do them. Does that make sense? Ok, like…the guitar.”

“The guitar?” Adam echoed curiously.

“Yeah. You were right. I didn’t need it, but I wanted it. And it actually does play smoother then my old one. The sound projection is…amazing. But I would have never bought it for myself. I don’t want to stick with what’s comfortable anymore. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just being selfish.”

Adam’s chest felt tight and he took a deep breath to try and loosen it. Only Kris could feel bad about wanting things. It was human nature, yet he was apologizing.

“I think that’s a great New Year’s resolution,” Adam said quietly, looking down at his hands. “I’m sorry about what I said. I really should stop being an asshole.”

“Maybe that should be your resolution.”

Adam looked over and Kris was smirking. He couldn’t help but smile himself.

“Maybe it should be.”

When they pulled into the Allens’ driveway, it was a little after eleven. The house was dark since everyone was still out at the party, but Kris insisted on changing. Adam teased that he’d have to put out another album to make up for the outfit Kris had worn for a full five hours at most and, predictably, Kris blushed a deep crimson.

He followed Kris up the front walk and into the house, surprised when Kris passed the hallway and lead him into the kitchen instead.

“I’m not ready to go yet,” he explained, looking everywhere but at Adam as he collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs.

Adam nodded and leaned back against the counter, watching Kris curiously as he began to jiggle his leg anxiously.

“Oh, here.” Kris made to hand the car keys out to Adam, but stopped halfway, his eyes growing wide.

For a moment he simply stared and Adam didn’t understand the reaction. Kris’s chew clenched and unclenched before he spoke again.

“You kept the ribbon,” he said quietly, noticing the gold trimming tied around the key ring in the lighted kitchen.

Adam swallowed and leaned forward, grabbing the keys from Kris fingers.

“Yeah, I did,” he said with a nod, feeling oddly embarrassed.

It was silent for a moment before Kris reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Adam watched curiously as he unfolded it and held it out open. Tucked in the fold was a coil of green.

“I kept mine too,” Kris said softly.

His eyes flicked up to Adam’s then back down to the wallet. A light blush colored his cheeks as he closed it and slid it back into his pocket.

Feeling strangely unnerved, Adam turned to the refrigerator. He pulled open the door and retrieved a bottle of champagne from the bottom shelf then two glasses from the cabinet above the sink. He carefully popped the cork and filled the two flutes. He needed the distraction. Something in the room had changed suddenly and the weight of it was pressing down against him, making it difficult to breathe. He exhaled slowly and cleared his throat.

“To 2010 and New Year’s resolutions,” he said sarcastically, handing one to Kris.

“To a year filled with success. No regrets,” Kris added.

They clinked glasses in salute, but Adam didn’t drink. He watched Kris sip his, tilting his head thoughtfully.

“Do you regret anything about 2009?” Adam asked slowly. His subconscious had an agenda he was not privy to and it made him uncomfortable.

Kris’s cheeks reddened and he shrugged, looking down into his champagne.

“No regrets, really. Just things I would have done differently.”

Adam nodded. He could certainly agree to that.

“So,” he continued carefully. “How have things been with Katy?” His stomach twisted as he said the words and he gulped his champagne to force down the sick feeling.

Kris placed his flute down on the table with a loud clink and sighed. He brought his fingers to his temples.

“Alright, I guess.” He shrugged and dropped his hands into his lap.

“Will she be pissed about tonight? That you stayed in Memphis? You can tell her I kidnapped you. It is kind of true.” Adam laughed, but it was forced and it echoed in the empty house, mocking him.

“Are you kidding? You forced me to go shopping,” he gestured down his front. “She’s going to be thrilled.”

“I think forced is a bit of an exaggeration.” Adam frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

Kris’s response was a cocked eyebrow and a small, dubious smile.

Adam drained the rest of his champagne, and when the glass left his lips, something unexpected tumbled out.

“I hope the whole crush thing didn’t make things worse for you.”

Kris laughed then and shook his head.

“No, no. That wasn’t a big deal, trust me. We’re having problems, but she never took any of that stuff seriously.”

Adam opened his mouth to laugh, but nothing came out. Kris dismissed the idea so easily, so blatantly. He said it wasn’t a big deal, but it had been. Adam had been terrified, think he’d lost Kris forever the way he’d acted. And then Adam had showed up and Kris had apologized but given him nothing more than a half-assed explanation.

Needing more champagne, stat, Adam turned and pulled the fridge door open, except, when he looked inside at the shelves, the containers and cartons were all weirdly blurred. Horrified, he blinked back the wetness.

When Kris had shown up in Memphis, he’d pinned an unwarranted amount of hope on the occurrence. He had unknowingly become invested in the parallels between his Christmas visit and Kris unexpected presence in the recording studio’s lobby. He’d subconsciously entertained the notion that they’d shared an agenda, but Adam had been wrong.

Everything suddenly bubbled over. Dancing around the subject, the lack of sleep, the toll it was taking on his career, the constant ache in his chest whenever Kris was near, and the even more painful spear of hurt that stabbed his insides when Kris was far away.

Adam clenched his fists as he slammed the refrigerator door closed and turned around.

"You say it wasn’t a big deal, but then why didn't you call me? Why didn't you answer my calls? You knew it was bull. You knew it was just the whole crush thing being dredged up and blown out of proportion for the millionth time."

Kris sighed and leaned over the table, resting his forehead against his palms.

"I mean, whatever. If it makes you uncomfortable still then tell me. I'll stop coming around or pushing you to talk to me, or something. I just can't know what you want or how to fix things if you don't tell me." Adam leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. The very last thing he wanted was Kris to tell him to stay away, but somehow, the thought of hurting him or making him uncomfortable was slightly worse. He looked at the floor momentarily to strengthen his composure, struggling to remain nonchalant, cool and seemingly removed from the emotions waging war in his chest.

When Kris lifted his head up off of his hands his eyes were irritated as though he'd been rubbing them roughly and Adam felt his heart sink.

"I couldn't answer your calls," Kris whispered, hugging his arms around his torso. "I couldn't call you. I didn't want to hear it. I couldn't hear it."

Adam felt sour bile rise up the back of his throat. This was it. Kris had reached his breaking point. Kris, who still shied out of the spotlight, was tired of being tied to the scandalous Adam Lambert.

"I get it. You're tired of it. I'm tired of it too. I'll, I don't know. I'll..." Adam didn't know exactly what he could do, but he'd be willing to do anything if it meant keeping Kris in his life. “I’ll…”

“No,” Kris said suddenly, standing so fast that the chair tipped and clattered against the kitchen floor. “Just, Adam, just stop. You don‘t…you‘re not…you don‘t get it, do you?”

Bewildered, all Adam could do was shake his head.

“I couldn’t call you, because I couldn’t hear you deny it. I couldn’t hear you tell me how ridiculous it is, how delusional everyone is. Because it’s not, okay? It’s not ridiculous. Everyone thinking you’ve got a crush on me? Everyone thinking we’re having some secret scandalous affair? I don’t care. What I care about is how you make it out to be like that would be the worst thing in the world. How being with me isn‘t even worth considering. It is for me. I consider it.”

Adam knew he wasn’t breathing, but he couldn’t remember how to make his lungs work. His fingers were pressing into the counter so hard they hurt, but he didn’t trust his legs to keep himself upright. Surely he’d had more to drink than he’d thought. There was no possible way he had heard Kris correctly. This wasn’t happening. He was seriously losing it.

“And, if that makes you uncomfortable, well,” Kris swallowed hard, “well, too fucking bad.”

Whether it was the sobering, unexpected curse or the way Kris’s bottom lip trembled when he said it, Adam wasn’t sure, but suddenly he was breathing again, and moving. He pushed himself away from the counter, towards Kris who attempted to step back, hanging his head shamefully.

“Hey,” Adam said sternly, gripping Kris by the collar of his shirt to keep him from getting away.

Kris fought him at first, pushing his palms against Adam’s chest, but Adam didn’t budge. After a few moments of struggle, resigned, Kris stilled. When he was sure he was done trying to get away, Adam slowly removed one hand from the fabric and used it to gently lift his chin with the tip of his index finger. Staring down into Kris’s wide, apologetic eyes he said, “Hey, don’t do that. Just, don’t do that.”

“What?” Kris whispered, so softly it was practically inaudible.

“Don’t say shit like that to me and then look like you’re sorry. Don’t tell me that and then regret it.”

Adam’s heart was slamming against his chest. He knew he was giving Kris a way out; a chance to take it back.

“No. No,” Kris said softly, his voice shaking. “I-I’m not sorry. I mean, I’m sorry for saying ‘too…too bad’. I don’t want to make things weird. I just-”

But his words were cut off when Adam slipped his hand from Kris’s chin up over his mouth. He’d heard enough, and even though Kris had obviously lost his nerve and slipped back into adorable uncertainty, he wasn’t denying his previous claim. And right now, that was enough.

Slowly, Adam removed his hand, then he leaned forward close enough so that he could feel Kris’s heavy breath against his lips, hesitating. It was another chance, another opportunity for Kris to take it back, but he didn’t. Instead, he closed his eyes and waited and Adam was reminded of the months he’d spent wanting - something, anything, but only ever is his wildest dreams - this.

Thoroughly tired of thinking and wanting and suppressing, he closed the gap, pressing his mouth against Kris’s.

Adam had created some pretty lofty expectations of the first time he kissed Kris Allen. The fantasies he’d conjured up were the very epitome of the word, with romantic sunsets and beaches with soft, pink sand and huge declarations of love. And maybe this wasn’t perfect because Adam’s left leg was cramping a bit from crouching to meet Kris’s lips and there was absolutely no telling what was going to happen when he had to pull away and eventually let them breathe, but somehow it was better than anything he’d ever imagined. Maybe it was because real, warm-blooded Kris was unequivocally superior to fantasy, intangible Kris or maybe it was the sudden presence of Kris’s small hand pressed innocently against his bicep that didn‘t quite translate to his imagination, but whatever the reason, Adam was both thrilled and terrified that his future dreams, even in extravagance, would never again compare.

The realization was bittersweet and it made him somewhat desperate, so that even when his oxygen deprived lungs burned, he didn’t remove his mouth from Kris’s. Kris, however, did pull back, gulping in a breath of air and making a small sort of choking laugh, and then Adam finally breathed too, more out of relief than necessity.

“Well, I guess-” Kris began, his cheeks blushing crimson.

“Shut up,” Adam whispered before pressing himself back against Kris, kissing him harder this time and daring to slide his palm around the back of his neck, pushing him closer.

Unexpectedly, Adam felt Kris tongue dart out and press against his lower lip. With blatant surprise, Adam craned his neck back and raised his eyebrows curiously. Kris offered a bashful smile and it was with that innocent gesture that Adam came undone. Fuck, he wanted this.

How they went from standing in the kitchen to stumbling down the hallway, kissing and feeling their way blindly along the walls, Adam wasn’t sure. Somewhere along the line he had switched into cruise control, the only appropriate setting for the surreal turn the night had taken.

They crashed through the guest bedroom door, breathless and giggling like teenagers, Adam stepping on Kris’s feet as he attempted to keep their bodies pressed together.

They paused, only for a heartbeat, but still long enough for Adam to glance around the bedroom and realize that the growing ache, the one that currently blocked out all other feelings and senses, had been there all along. It had obviously been there over Christmas, but it had been there over Thanksgiving too. It had been hiding, under fear and rationalization, but now that it was free, running rampant through his veins, he could recognize that it had always been there. And, somewhere along the line, Adam Lambert had gone from wanting to waiting.

Kris stumbled backwards, tugging him along by his tie and breaking him from his epiphany. Their motions were needy and desperate, and every feeling Adam had been burying since the last day of tour, September 15th, was now seeping out of his skin as he pressed his palm against Kris’s throat, forcing his chin up so that he could assault his neck with rough kisses. Expert fingers found their way to the front of Kris’s shirt, popping the buttons loose in descending order until the fabric parted revealing his toned chest and flat stomach. His body was warm under Adam’s hands as he dragged his fingernails down across Kris’s exposed flesh, eliciting a low growl and then a shudder.

Adam felt Kris’s hands slide up his back, into his hair where they twisted around a fistful and pulled, forcing this mouth to press firmly into the soft spot just below Kris’s jaw. There was a moan, though Adam couldn’t tell whose lips had uttered the sound, and he pulled back.

His brain was still slightly fogged from the champagne, and more so from the lust, but if they were taking this step it had to be together or not at all. Crossing this threshold was not a decision to be taken lightly, because, despite Kris’s grand declarations, once they traversed this precarious line, everything would change. Everything.

“Are you sure about this?” Adam’s eyes were oceans, both in depth and color as he sought Kris’s dark, hooded ones. It was his question to ask, his warning to heed. He had much less at stake here, in the Allen’s spare bedroom with the light blue comforter and white wicker furniture. He could do this and leave and never speak of it again, even if it kept him up every night, restless and sweaty for the rest of his life, but Kris couldn’t. Kris was a better man then he was, a man who had everything to lose and almost nothing to gain, nothing that Adam could offer him.

Yet, for some reason, as Adam studied his eyes, flicking back and forth between the left and right in anxious anticipation - terrified he’d say no, but even more terrified that he’d say yes - Kris nodded. It was followed by a swallow that made his throat bob and another slower nod of the head, as though Adam might not have gotten the message the first time.

Having waited far too long as it was, Adam didn’t hesitate any longer. No more questions would be asked for now, and the doubts and fears that made his hands unsteady would be pushed from his thoughts.

Adam pressed his body flush against Kris’s and brought his lips down over his mouth, cupping his face with his hands. He pulled Kris forward gently, taking small stumbling steps backwards, blindly, until the back of his knees connected with the mattress. Then he darted his tongue out, sweeping it against Kris’s before sinking down onto the bed.

Slowly, he undid Kris’s belt from the buckle and slid it out from the loops. Kris watched, biting his bottom lip so that it became slightly pink and swelled as Adam unbuttoned his jeans and tugged the zipper down.

Neither of them moved at that point, Adam’s hand frozen around the waistband of Kris’s pants, while Kris looked down at him, his pulse visibly throbbing in his neck. Adam’s eyes crawled slowly up the thin trail of fuzz leading to Kris’s navel, up his stomach, over the faint lines of his chest, his throat, passing over his pouted lips, to his eyes, where they locked, seeing beyond the chocolate swirl of anticipation and longing.

There was no fear, only anxiousness and… something else. Something familiar, but unrecognizable; something Adam was certain was reflected in his own eyes, though he couldn‘t identify it.

“Adam,” Kris whispered, his knees buckling slightly as though the intensity of the emotions passing between them was weighing him down. Unexpectedly, the corners of his mouth turned up, almost mischievously, though the flush rising to his cheeks gave him away.

Adam laughed and the atmosphere lightened just enough that they could move again, breathe, and Adam broke their gaze to focus on the task in front of him.

Kris’s hips were just below eye level as he roughly tugged his pants down, revealing a pair of black and green plaid boxers and Adam smiled at the predictability, not to mention the tent Kris’s arousal was creating.

It was almost odd how familiar their movements were, as though they’d practiced for this moment a million anticipatory times, figuring out the most comfortable way to shatter the proverbial platonic wall they had so carefully constructed between each other.

It wasn’t like Adam’s fantasies where they pawed and clawed at each other in the dark at the back of a club, or fucked hard and fast in the studio while the writer stepped out for a smoke. This was urgent, but slow; meaningful, but simple. It was soft and sweet and all careening heartbeats and tender touching. The Kris that starred in Adam’s most restless dreams was really nothing compared to the real, warm, flushed Kris who trembled slightly as he brought his palms to rest gently against the sides of Adam’s head, his fingers stroking the hair there.

It was all the encouragement Adam needed to grip the band of Kris’s boxers and tug them down, his erection popping free once the fabric was removed.

Kris inhaled sharply, and Adam looked up in time to see his eyes roll back and his jaw clench. It made his own pants feel impossibly tighter and his desire to savor every second of these moments was overridden by the pure lust that racked his body in waves, drowning out coherent thought.

He gripped Kris’s cock tightly in his hand, an undignified sound rushing from between Kris’s parted lips. Reflexively, Adam’s hips bucked at the noise and it took all of his self-control to remain relaxed and gentle. Closing his eyes, he let a shudder vibrate through his body, then with a deep breath he opened them, refocused on easing Kris through things. Adam was the veteran. Adam was the teacher. It was his heavy responsibility to lead Kris, to ensure he wanted this again, preferably every day from now until the end of his life. Adam already knew he did.

Slowly, watching Kris’s reaction, he pumped his fist once.

With a gasp, Kris sucked his bottom lip behind his teeth, his chest rising and falling heavily. His fingers on the sides of Adam’s head curled into the hair there, pulling in a way that was painful, but not unpleasant. Adam pumped again and Kris yanked harder, and, ok, that time it hurt a bit. Laughing, Adam released Kris and reached up, gently grabbing his hands and moving them to rest on his shoulders.

“Sorry,” Kris breathed.

“Shhh.”

Adam returned his grip to the base of Kris’s cock, and this time when he pumped, he leaned forward on the way back down and replaced his hand with his mouth. Immediately, Kris’s fingers dug into Adam’s flesh and he groaned, his entire body going rigid.

As the night wore on, slowly, carefully, they explored, gentle and innocent without embarrassment or hesitation. Kris abandoned himself to Adam, following his lead and mimicking the motions that felt good on his own body. Once his initial blush faded, his features became set in concentration, a look Adam recognized from last winter, when Kris would sit on his bed in the mansion, determined to learn a brand new song on the guitar in just a week. It made Adam slightly emotional to realize how far they‘d come - as people, as musicians, as friends, as something more.

At some point, the ball dropped, and 2009 faded into 2010. With it went the wanting and the hiding and the fear. With it went guitars and phone calls and interviews. With it went everything Adam had ever known, and if he could tie a ribbon around a moment so to never forget, it would be this one.

After awhile, both exhausted emotionally and physically satisfied, Adam pulled the comforter up over them and they just laid, side by side together in thoughtful silence. The edges of Adam's consciousness were beginning to blur and his eyelids were growing increasingly heavy. He could feel Kris's warm body curled up against his side while he drew light circles on the back of Kris's hand with the pad of his thumb, their fingers intertwined beneath the sheets. Kris's even breath fanned hot against Adam’s bare shoulder and, impulsively, he turned his head and pressed a kiss into his hair.

"Happy New Year," he whispered.

"Happy New Year," Kris mumbled back, and Adam was surprised to hear he was awake. "Sorry I made you leave the party."

Adam couldn't see his face, but he could hear the smirk in his voice. Laughing, he kissed his head again then nuzzled into his ear.

“Sorry we never made it to yours.”

As if on cue, a beam of light cut through the window, dancing across the opposite wall then disappearing. Adam squinted then buried his face against Kris‘s neck, but the sound of an engine cutting caused Kris to bolt upright and snatch his hand out of Adam’s.

“Shit,” he cursed, his hands frantically tearing the blankets off.

He jumped out of the bed, stumbling as the sheet caught his ankle. Adam snickered, but Kris shot him a desperate, pleading look that turned his expression serious. With a sigh, he rose up off the bed himself, watching Kris search for his clothes frenetically.

“Here,” he said, tossing Kris his boxers then pulling on his own. “Do you want me to…should we-”

“No,” Kris interrupted. “Just stay in here. Just, I don’t know…go to sleep. Okay? Please?”

Adam scratched the back of his neck then slowly sat back down onto the bed watching Kris struggle to pull his pants on.

“Alright.”

“Alright,” Kris echoed, grabbing his shirt up off the floor just as they heard the muffled creak of the front door opening down the hall.

They looked at each other for a half of a second, Kris’s face pale and panicked, before he bolted out of the room, closing the door behind him. Adam sighed and leaned back flat against the mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

Through the door he heard Katy call, “Kris!” excitedly, followed by, “you’re here! Why didn’t you come to the party?”

At that point, Adam rolled onto his side and pressed a pillow against the sides of his head, blocking out all sound. The night looped repeatedly in his head, and he lost himself in the sighs and the fingertips and the kisses, unwilling to ruin things with over thinking what had transpired over the last ten minutes.

What had he expected? Him and Kris to walk out hand in hand in post-coital bliss to give a detailed description of their night to Katy and his family in the Allens’ kitchen? Were they supposed to just lay there all wrapped up in each other until someone came looking and received a first-hand visual?

Adam knew he was being irrational, but the bed felt cold and empty and the sheets smelled like Kris. As thankful and eternally grateful as he was for what had happened over those few blissful hours, he was greedy. He wanted more.

Sleep didn’t come easily even after the voices out in the kitchen grew quiet. He recited song lyrics to keep his mind from wandering, but it was futile. Bitter thoughts of Kris curled around Katy, the curve of his jaw pressed against her shoulder, made his throat constrict and his chest feel heavy. He hated how every few minutes his eyes flicked hopefully to the door as he imagined Kris slipping back in and climbing up onto the mattress, back into his arms.

Eventually, darkness swallowed him and he found sleep, however restless, to carry him through the rest of the night.

When Adam woke, the first thing he realized was that he was still alone. For a quick, hazy moment he wondered if it had all just been a dream, but the dull sting in his shoulders from where Kris had left angry, red crescents with his nails was a clear indication that something had actually happened. The pieces slowly assembled and his memory became increasingly vivid until he could remember every detail of the previous night, including the frantic way Kris had left him.

Groaning, he rolled over and sat up on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair. What was he supposed to do now? Kris had all but begged him to stay put, but he wasn’t really sure how long that request was to be heeded. Was he supposed to sit here all day? Was he supposed to wait for Kris to give him the okay?

He wasn’t sure, and more so, he was feeling oddly anxious about seeing Kris for the first time after everything that had happened last night. He rubbed his eyes, trying to remove some of the smudged black make up he knew caked his face and sighed heavily. He had never really considered this turn of events and so he was severely unprepared. His knowledge of ‘the morning after’ etiquette didn’t include partners who happened to be your straight, married best friend. Though, he thought with a smirk, he was pretty sure he could officially remove ‘straight’ from Kris’s list of qualities.

Still, he didn’t like being told what to do, even from Kris and it wasn’t like their secret was written in black marker across his forehead. Deciding there was no reason to be banished from the rest of the house, he stood and went to the bedroom door.

When he opened it, he could hear voices in the kitchen and he quickly recognized them as belonging to Kris and Mrs. Allen. It was ridiculous how the simple sound of Kris’s voice sent his heart ricocheting around in his chest and, internally rolling his eyes, he willed himself to pull it together.

He padded quietly down the hall until he reached the doorway of the kitchen. When he looked in, his stomach twisted into knots.

Kris was leaning up against the counter, resting his head back against the cabinets behind him. Mrs. Allen was next to him, hunched over the sink with her back to Adam and they appeared to be arguing.

Not wanting to be rude, but more so because he hated the strained, frustrated look on Kris face, Adam cleared his throat and they both looked up.

Mrs. Allen smiled sweetly, but Kris’s eyes went wide and for a second Adam wondered why he didn’t just stay put like Kris had asked. But then Kris smoothed his features and pressed his lips into a small, tight smile, though Adam could see the muscles in his jaw tensing.

They looked at each other from across the kitchen, Kris fidgeting nervously and serving only to make Adam more anxious. He kept shifting from one foot to the other and crossing and uncrossing his arms, running a hand over his forehead and picking at the collar of his tee-shirt. He was obviously uncomfortable, but Adam had no idea how to alleviate the situation. All he wanted to do was cross the linoleum, pull Kris into his arms and shield him from whatever was warring internally. He wanted to kiss his forehead and hear him say he wanted him, even if he had to ask for it out right. He wanted to feel Kris’s skin under his fingers, under his mouth and smirk against the goose bumps that formed from his touch.

But he remained rooted to the spot, across the kitchen, reminding himself to breathe at regular intervals.

“So, did you boys have a fun night?” Mrs. Allen asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee and taking a seat at the table. “I was surprised to see you were back already when we got home.”

Kris cringed slightly, though no one but Adam would have been able to catch it. He wished he didn’t. It made his heart physically hurt to see Kris react as such.

“Yeah, it was fun,” Kris mumbled, his eyes darting around the kitchen. He rocked back and forth on his heels, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. Adam wanted to say something, anything, but his mouth wouldn’t work.

“‘Morning!”

Adding to the already suffocating and awkward atmosphere, Katy came bouncing in, smiling. She pulled a mug out of the drain board and poured herself a cup of coffee before pecking Kris on the cheek, grinning brightly at Adam and sitting across from Mrs. Allen.

Adam couldn’t help the way his eyebrow arched accusatorially, as though Kris should apologize for his wife kissing him and it made him feel foolish. He swallowed down a bitter bubble of jealousy and forced his eyes to the floor.

“So, I’m thinking of doing some shopping today while I’ve got the day off,” Katy announced, wrapping her hands around her mug. “There are always such good sales on the holidays.”

“I’ll come.”

Three sets of eyes flashed to Kris who was biting his lip and turning pink under their stares. He shrugged slightly, then repeated himself.

“Yeah, I’ll come. Let me get changed.” Without looking at Adam he crossed the kitchen and turned down the hallway, hurrying out of sight.

Mrs. Allen and Katy exchanged a look of surprise and then they were both grinning in a hopeful way that made Adam feel much more uncomfortable than it should have. He cleared his throat and they both jumped, reminded of his presence.

“You should come too Adam. Oh, yes! Come! I’m certainly not going to get any fashion advice from Kris! Please, come?” Katy was all but bouncing in her seat, twisting towards him and nodding enthusiastically.

Adam was torn. The stubborn part of him that was nursing his pride was feeling irrationally angry with Kris. He wanted to accept the invitation as a way to lash out, a way to force his company upon Kris when it was obviously making him uncomfortable. This part of him believed Kris deserved the cruel and unusual punishment of spending the day with your wife and the guy you’d spent the better part of the previous night with. This part of him was hurt and pissed off.

The rational part of him was feeling much less vindictive. The rational part of him was scared, and if he was scared he couldn’t imagine what Kris was feeling. This part of him knew Kris needed space and time. This part of him was hurting too, but it was more of an ache than anything else. It was a yearning, a burning want and a desperation. The rational part won out, for now.

“I’d love to, but I have to get back to Memphis. I’ve got another session at six,” Adam lied, shrugging apologetically.

Katy pouted, but nodded in understanding and returned her attention to her coffee.

It was silent for a moment and Adam felt out of place. Mumbling, he excused himself and left the kitchen. He headed down to the guest room and just as he was passing Kris and Katy’s bedroom, the door flew open and Kris’s arm shot out. He grabbed Adam by the shirt and pulled him forcefully into the room, closing the door behind them.

Adam watched Kris back up and tear his hands through his hair then begin pacing back and forth across the carpet. He didn’t know what to say so he settled on something simple, leaning back against the door casually.

“Hi.”

Kris stopped moving and stared at Adam for a beat before laughing incredulously.

“Hi?” He shook his head in disbelief and Adam felt his defenses fly into place.

“What the hell do you want me to say?” Adam snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. “You haven’t said a word to me all morning. At least I’m saying _something_.”

Sighing, Kris looked up.

“I don’t know, Adam, okay? I don’t know what I want you to say.”

“Okay,” Adam said stiffly, his heart in his throat despite his façade of annoyance.

It was silent again and Kris’s eyes were unfocused as he stared at the floor, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I’m going out with Katy for the day,” he said, still looking at something Adam couldn’t see. “I can’t deal with this right now, okay?”

His voice was softer this time, but still in an abnormally high tone and it terrified Adam to hear Kris on the verge of hysterics. So, despite how wounded he felt by Kris dismissing him, he nodded silently and swallowed down his anger.

He uncrossed his arms and let the tension leave his shoulders as a show of defeat then turned and opened the bedroom door. He hesitated briefly, hoping beyond all rational belief that Kris would say something more or stop him, but neither happened, and with a sigh he walked out.

When Adam reached the guest room, he realized he hadn’t brought anything in with him from the car, so there was nothing to pack up. He knew it was rude to leave the bed unmade, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch the sheets that had been wrapped around Kris’s hips or the pillows that still smelled of Kris’s hair, so he left it as it was. He made a mental note to apologize later, but as of now, it was obvious that Kris wanted him to leave and he planned to do so as soon as possible.

He turned on his heels and headed towards the kitchen, slowing down as he passed Kris’s bedroom door, hoping Kris would pull him in again and assault him with his lips rather than his words this time, but it didn’t happen.

He hugged and thanked Katy and Mrs. Allen and, despite their looks of skepticism, claimed to have already seen Kris in the hall and said their goodbyes. Then he walked stiffly through the living room and out the front door, keeping his eyes forward and refusing to look back.

Once in the safety of his Mustang, he exhaled.

He allowed himself two long, deep breaths before staring the car. His emotions had been unpredictable lately and whatever reaction he was undoubtedly about to have would be better tolerated if he were not sitting in the Allen’s driveway.

When he had pulled out of the spot and began heading down the road towards the highway, he waited for something to hit him now that he was safe and in private, but nothing came.

Of course there was the normal level of anxious one would expect to feel when their life was hanging in such a precarious balance. There was the anger he felt towards Kris for sending him away, for not dealing with things outright. There was the frustration with himself, for letting things play out the way they did, knowing very well that everything would be different and complicated in the morning.

But, mostly, there was fear.

Adam was rarely afraid of anything. He didn’t care what people thought about him and he had a strong belief that the things that happened in our lives were meant to. Fear was a wasted emotion that only served to hold one back and initiate doubts. It was pointless and futile to be afraid.

Except now he was. He was terrified.

Everything he had and everything he knew was on the line. What had happened with Kris was big and life changing and there was no going back for him now. The dam had been breached, the feelings had overflowed and Kris had washed over his skin in waves of pure, uncompromised want. Everything their relationship had been was now changed. Their entire dynamic was altered. It was now a question of whether or not they could move forward.

No.

The question was whether or not Kris could move forward.

The turnoff for the highway came and went and Adam didn’t give it a second glance. He wasn’t leaving Conway. At least, not yet.

Adam spent the afternoon and most of the evening driving around Conway and revisiting the places Kris had shown him over Thanksgiving. The day was grey and dreary and the dark clouds reflected in the windows depressed the store fronts. It enhanced the loneliness he felt, passing these places without Kris by his side.

Sometime after the sun had dipped below the horizon, Adam's anxiousness gave into exhaustion and the weight of the past twenty-four hours pressed heavily onto his shoulders.

He had always prided himself on his ability to get into a head space removed from whatever high stress situation he was faced with. During Idol he was able to remove himself from the crowd and the competition by focusing on his singing, his craft, and blocking out all other variables, including the possibility of elimination. Compartmentalizing his fears and his feelings was one of his more prized abilities and yet, now, everything bounced around in his head, unable to be wrangled in and suppressed. He couldn't get a handle on things. His thoughts flicked through his mind making him feel a hundred different things at once, including a bit nauseous.

It was this that kept him in Conway. It was the realization that he couldn't bury this down and just go back to his life; not until he confronted things head on. It was this that had him roaming the town, buying time and trying to figure out his next move.

Too many times he had left things unsaid. He'd let Kris off the hook on too many occasions.

And, ironically, it was Kris who changed the game, even though Adam had been planning to. Kris had broken the code, traipsed the invisible line that Adam had almost inched over himself multiple times in the past month. Kris had taken the leap and Adam had followed and now they were free-falling with no chute as the ground came closer and closer.

Around midnight, he circled back through Conway and headed towards the Allens,’ his hands shaking as he gripped the steering wheel. It wasn’t a conscious decision, really; just something he was doing, because it felt like the next logical step.

He pulled up in front of the house and cut the engine, pulling the keys out of the ignition and resting them on his palm. He looked down curiously, seeing the gold ribbon he had tied there before he’d left back in November, and reminded himself that the Kris who had tied this around his wrist was the same Kris inside the house, albeit a little more freaked out and a little less straight.

With a sigh, he jammed the keys into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone, tapping it thoughtfully against the steering wheel before forcing himself to flip it open. He didn’t let himself hesitate, or else he might never work up the nerve, just pressed down the “1” key while his heart thudded in his chest. When it started to ring, he brought it to his ear, swallowing down the sickening nervousness that twisted in his stomach.

He waited, holding his breath, until the voicemail picked up and then his heart plummeted.

Kris didn’t answer.

He slammed the phone closed, not waiting to hear the beep, all too familiar with the mechanical female voice he’d become intimately acquainted with during December when Kris had been avoiding his calls. His entire body sagged and something hitched in his throat and it terrified him to feel so affected. Angry at his weakness, he closed his fist around the phone, prepared to hurl it against the dashboard when suddenly it began vibrating in his hand. He jumped and sucked in a breath of air, opening his fingers slowly so that he could read the screen.

_Kris’s Cell_

His heart climbed back up into his throat and lodged itself there, and for a few moments he sat there stunned, staring down at the phone. At the last minute, right before the call would be redirected to voicemail, he flipped it open and pressed the talk key.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” Kris’s voice was low and he sounded tired. “You called. I’m sorry, I-I…I didn’t get to it in time.”

Adam cleared his throat.

“Oh, yeah. That’s alright.”

He bit down on his bottom lip, hard. Things were awkward and somehow that made him slightly less anxious. It was obvious that things were in desperate need of repair and it justified his decision to stay in Conway until they’d talked.

“So, is everything okay? Did you record the track?”

And yet, ‘slightly less anxious’ was nowhere near comfortable and he shifted around in the front seat, running a hand through his hair.

“Everything is alright. I just…I’m…” He could still leave. He could still let things be and talk about them on Kris’s terms. He could go back to Memphis and then home to LA and they could work things out later. He could wait.

Except he was fucking done with waiting.

“I’m actually still in Conway.” He tried to laugh a little to lighten the insanity of what he’d just said, but it came out sounding like a choking cough that he wished he’d forgone altogether.

“You’re what? Where?”

“Um, outside your house actually.” He rolled his eyes, realizing how crazy this all was. He’d spent hours riding around Conway assuming that Kris would even want to talk to him again, ever. But that was why he’d given him so many outs last night; it was why he’d asked repeatedly if it was what Kris wanted before letting things continue. Damn it, he’d done everything right and if after it all Kris was going to flake on him, he wasn’t being pushed away easily.

“I was hoping we could talk.”

Kris hadn’t said anything yet and Adam was preparing to be told to take a hike, not completely sure how he would react to that. But then Kris sighed heavily into the phone.

“Alright. Everyone is asleep, but I’ll let you in the front.”

“Ok,” Adam answered shakily.

He closed his phone and shoved it into his pocket before pushing open the door and climbing out. He hadn’t realized how stiff his legs were from his hours of aimless driving and he cringed as he straightened, easing out of the car.

When he turned and faced the house, Kris was already at the door, leaning against the frame waiting and his pulse sped impossibly faster. He willed himself to calm down, reminded himself that it was just Kris, his best friend, and that they’d already promised to be there for each other through everything. Clenching his jaw purposefully, he headed up the front walk, up the front steps and in through the front door, involuntarily holding his breath as he passed Kris.

It felt strange to be in the living room, yet again. It seemed like every time he was here, he was anxious or nervous or struggling with some revelation. So much had transpired in this living room, so many discussions and thoughts had been had.

Kris closed the door and sat down on the couch. His guitar, the one Adam had given him for Christmas, sat next to him and he pulled it up onto his lap, placing his fingers on the strings. Adam stuck his hands in his back pockets, wondering where to start and what to say. Kris, however, was quicker.

“I’m sorry. I suck at this.”

“No,” Adam assured him, trying to bring some humor to the situation. “You’re good. You’re really, really good. Trust me.”

Kris sighed, obviously not amused and looked up at Adam, his eyes sad and tired.

“I don’t know how to have this conversation.”

Adam nodded seriously and shrugged.

“You have it just like any other conversation we’ve ever had. Nothing’s changed, really.”

Cocking an eyebrow skeptically, Kris looked back down at the guitar and strummed it a few times. Adam was beginning to recognize a pattern. It seemed that whenever Kris was highly uncomfortable and weighing out what he wanted to say, he would play. He’d done it during Christmas as well.

“Just, say what you’re thinking,” Adam tried softly.

Kris stopped playing but he didn’t raise his eyes. Adam could see his chest rising and falling heavily and it made him aware that his own was doing the same.

“I’m thinking,” Kris paused, hesitating. “I’m thinking…”

Silently, Adam waited, unblinking.

“I don’t know what I’m thinking,” Kris finished, hugging the guitar to his chest. “I guess I’m freaking out because…because I’m not freaking out. And I should be freaking out, Adam. I should be freaking out.”

Adam relaxed just a bit and offered Kris a small smile. At the very least, this wasn’t a massive regret on Kris’s part and that was certainly something.

“You don’t have to freak out.”

Kris looked up then, his bottom lip trembling slightly and it took every ounce of self-control Adam had not to climb onto the couch next to him and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. What had happened last night had shattered the blockades in Adam’s brain. All the thoughts he shouldn’t be having about his straight best friend were now flowing freely.

“Adam, what happened last night…I wanted it. I can own up to that.” His voice was shaking and he was drumming his fingers against the body of the guitar, his eyes flicking up to Adam’s then back to the floor. “But, that wasn’t me. I can’t-I won’t…I’m sorry.”

All the hope that had been building in Adam’s chest exploded, and the particles tore at his insides in a way that made him almost dizzy.

“What?” was all that he could manage as he placed his hand on the television stand to steady himself.

“I’m so sorry, Adam. I just can’t do it. I can’t do this.”

Adam stood stone still, getting his bearings and wrapping his head around Kris’s words. He thought he was prepared for this. He thought that their friendship was strong enough that they’d get through it and past it. He hasn’t taken the time to acknowledge the possibility that if Kris regretted last night or wanted to take it back or invalidated it in any way, he wouldn’t be okay.

“What the hell does that mean?” Adam snapped. “What can’t you do? Kris, I fucking asked you! I gave you so many chances to back out!” He pointed an accusatory finger out at Kris. “I knew you were going to regret it.”

Kris bit his lip apologetically and hushed Adam with his hand. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, still holding the guitar against his chest as though it were a shield.

“I told you I wanted last night to happen. I’m not sorry about that. I can’t be sorry about that. It was…you were…Adam, what we’ve had has always been more than a friendship, whether we wanted to admit it or not. I wanted you. I wanted last night, but that’s it, you know? It happened. And that’s just…it. That’s it. I don‘t regret it. Not all mistakes are regrets.”

Adam shook his head from side to side, murmuring words he couldn’t hear over the way his pulse was pounding in his ears. Everything had lead to this point. All this time, he had always done the right thing. He’d buried his feelings and hidden them away in boxes labeled ‘do not touch’ and been a good friend…a great friend. It had been Kris who had reached in and uncovered those boxes and pulled out those feelings. He had forced them to the surface and now he was asking Adam to suppress them again. He was asking Adam to clean up his mess and Adam just didn’t have the strength or the control to do it.

“Well, that’s just fucking wonderful,” Adam laughed humorlessly. “Really, Kris, I’m just so glad you had a good time last night. I mean, who the fuck cares that last night wasn’t just a one-time thing for me, right?”

He paused, breathing heavily and trying to collect his thoughts.

“I talked you through every step of the way. I made sure you were okay with where things were going. Did you stop even once to say…I don’t know…‘oh hey, Adam, just so you know, I really feel like punching in my homo card, but only for the night. I haven’t been getting laid since my marriage is a fucking mess, but you seem like a fair enough substitute just this once.’ No?” Adam was seething and he knowingly chose to take a low blow, but it didn’t make him feel any better. In fact, it made him feel worse which only fueled his anger. He was the one who was wronged. He was the one who was hurt. He should not be the one feeling fucking guilty right now on top of it all.

Kris stood, guitar in hand, and pointed a shaking finger out at Adam.

“Really, Adam? Is that really how you feel? You really think that’s why I wanted last night to happen? Because I was looking to get some?” He shook his head looking sad and disappointed then dropped his arm to his side. “You said it yourself,” he continued bitterly. “We can’t have it all. We have to make sacrifices, right? Wasn’t that what you told me?”

It stung to have his words thrown back at him and he narrowed his eyes at Kris. Yes, that had been what he’d said, but at the time he’d been referring to Drake and alluding to Katy. He wasn’t talking about them. They could have it all. Right?

Besides anger, Adam was feeling foolish. Why had he thought that they were beyond the rules? What did he think made them special enough to have some fairy tale ending where they lived happily ever after? He’d thought he was being so realistic and accepting of the sacrifices that came with their careers, but in fact, he’d been delusional. The very argument he’d used to validate their reason to be together was the one Kris was using to explain why they couldn’t be.

The room felt like it was closing in on him, suffocating him, and his chest tightened painfully. Balling his hands into fists he turned and stalked out of the room, out the backdoor and into the frigid January air. He moved down the steps of the deck and out onto the grass, his breath coming in white, visible puffs. All around him, brown branches swayed in the wind, bending towards him like claws.

Adam crouched down and pressed his palms against the sides of his head, cursing into the ground in an uneven voice. He heard the faint creak of the backdoor being slid open and the twang of a guitar being set down and moments later felt Kris come up behind him. He stood then and spun to face him, his eye makeup smudged from salty wetness he hadn’t noticed overflowing. He angrily wiped at his cheeks, his ears turning pink in the stinging wind.

“So, what was all that bullshit about not knowing if you wanted this?” Adam opened his arms and did a half spin, motioning at the house, the backyard, the quaint pre-Adam life that Kris had set up. “I thought you wanted this.” He gestured down his front, shaking his head in exasperation.

“It’s not that simple and you of all people should know that,” Kris sighed. He took a step back and pressed his fists against his forehead, his chin falling to his chest. “It isn’t just you or this, or you or Katy, or you or anything. This isn’t a contest between you and anything else, though if it was I thought my choice would already have been made clear.”

“Then what is it?” Adam asked, his voice cracking as he turned away from Kris and stared into the darkness. “You can’t go back. You can’t pretend nothing happened.”

Kris sighed sadly, running his hands through his hair.

“I can go back, Adam. Pretending nothing happened doesn’t mean nothing actually did. Pretending doesn’t mean the feelings go away. That’s why it’s called pretending. And I have a life and a music career to think about and a wife who didn’t ask for any of this. I have family and friends who think I‘m a good person, an honest person. Pretending, it’s not as hard as you think when it keeps people from being hurt.”

“And hurting me is easy?” Adam remained with his back to Kris, but his shoulders hunched forward, as though the words were heavy enough to weigh him down.

It was a minute before Kris answered, and when he did, his voice was strained with emotion, and his words came out in the form of a plea.

“Adam, you’re my best friend.”

Adam continued to look out over the backyard with his hands jammed into the pockets of his jacket as he rocked back and forth in his boots. He didn’t turn to face Kris when he spoke and his voice was rough and gravelly, muffled by the frigid January wind. It was so inaudible, Kris had to lean in closer to be sure he caught every word. The message, however, was short and sharp.

“Fuck you, Allen.”

Adam turned then, his face pale and glowing in the winter moonlight. His eyes were downcast, glittering beneath a fan of dark, moist lashes as he moved forward. Kris flinched as he passed, knocking into his shoulder roughly, but Adam didn’t stop until he reached the stairs.

“This is screwed up,” he said, gripping the wooden railing and shaking his head. “This is really screwed up.”

Silently, he took the porch steps two at a time, only pausing when he reached the place where Kris’s guitar sat propped up against the siding of the house, next to the glass sliding doors. Adam sighed, the calm before the storm, then lifted a black booted foot and slammed it against the instrument, snapping the strings and sending splinters of wood in all directions. The crunch was deafening, the wind seeming to choose that exact moment in time to still.

He should have just continued walking, kept moving right through the backdoor and out again through the front, but the inner masochist forced him to turn, waiting for the harsh blow of Kris’s angry words, needing the sting of his hate to root him to reality, to replace the bottomless pain with new rage. However, none came. And as he lifted his narrowed gaze to Kris’s, who was watching from the foot of the porch steps, his own heart splintered, strings snapping painfully in his chest and the only sounds were from the reanimated wind whipping around them and the creaking of bare tree branches.

Kris didn’t say a word. His mouth hung open and his eyes were wide, glistening chestnut irises reflecting an insurmountable hurt. His arms dangled limply at his sides as his unabashed look of betrayal and sadness sliced Adam into stinging ribbons. He didn’t blink and he didn’t move; he just stood, looking at the destroyed instrument with silent tears overflowing, spilling down his cold cheeks and dripping off his stubble covered chin.

Adam was hit with the overwhelming urge to drop to his knees and collect every sliver of wood, to tell Kris that it could be fixed, that he was sorry and stupid and scared. But he didn’t. The guitar was beyond repair and the rift between them was a widening chasm as the seconds turned into minutes. Instead he forced his eyes and body away, turning towards the glass door and pulling it open with more force than necessary. He disappeared into the house without a second look at the thorough mess he’d made, through the kitchen and then the living room and then straight out the front door.

The trees flashed by, the white lines in the road flicking past and disappearing into the distance. His fingers ached, gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles blanched. His head pounded, relentlessly replaying the night before, as fatigue threatened to inch him over the edge.

He hadn’t bothered stopping during the night. As far as he was concerned, the moment he stopped, he would crack and then crumble and then it would be over. All of it. There would be nothing left. Nothing to run from, and worse, nothing to run to.

He had been so stupid, so naïve. This wasn’t a fairytale or a movie, where pining paid off and hurting people could be ultimately justified in the name of love, so long as it came with an epic declaration and a cheesy song. Real emotions were involved; real lives; real futures. He had been selfish and blinded by lust.

And yet…

None of it really mattered and it made him feel like a dick. If hurting Katy, a beautiful and kind Southern girl who had been nothing but good to him, meant he could kiss Kris every day, or even just tomorrow, he wouldn’t even have to hesitate to decide. If waking up beside him meant never seeing his mom or his dad or Neil again, or worse, seeing their disapproval and disappointment, it would be an easy choice.

The tires screeched as Adam pulled over, pushing the driver's side door open just in time to expel the contents of his stomach all over the asphalt. Tears sprang to his eyes as he heaved and long after the gagging had stopped, a trail of wetness continued to spill down his cheeks. He wiped at his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket and sat up, feeling slightly dizzy.

This was nothing like the dream he'd had as an awkward child, wishing and hoping for the recognition and the fame and the chance to make a living doing what he loved. And he did love music and performing and having the power to affect the emotions of complete strangers but even as someone completely out of touch with sports he knew that was only minor league love. What he'd destroyed; what he'd left back there in Arkansas was real and major and once in a lifetime.

Sadness gave way to anger and he punched his fists out against the steering wheel, and then his forehead, just for good measure. The dull throb in his head and hands was a welcomed contrast to the white hot spear of pain dashed through his gut. His keys jingled in the ignition, catching his attention. The gold ribbon Kris had given him over Thanksgiving, back when things were simple and he was making promises he couldn’t keep, was tied around the silver ring of his keychain.

“Damn it!”

He wound one of the loose ends around his index finger and pulled, as hard as he could.

It didn’t snap right away and it dug into his flesh, cutting off the circulation from the tip of his finger. Its resistance only angered him further. He was done, done with oaths and vows and stupid fucking ribbons.

With a satisfying snap it finally gave way and he closed his fist around the offensive bit of trimming. He’d intended to throw it out onto the highway to be swept up by the wind and carried away, but his hand shook as he stuck his arm out the door.

“Just fucking let it go,” he said out loud, willing himself to release the ribbon. “Just. Let. It. Go.”

His fingers remained tightly curled, frozen and unmoving despite his verbal demands, and defeated, he pulled his arm back and dropped his hand into his lap. And then the anger was gone.

His fist loosened until his hand was flat, the ribbon curled up on his palm and his breath hitched as he stared down at it. He couldn’t let it go.

With a sigh, he leaned across the passenger seat and flipped open the glove compartment. He tossed the ribbon inside and slammed it shut. Then he straightened and pulled the door of his Mustang closed. He rolled slowly back onto the freeway and continued on, watching the mile markers flash by as he pushed ninety. He sped away from the mistakes and the secret kisses and the meaningful glances, though even as the needle crossed over the one-hundred mark, the heartbreak followed.


	6. The Fear of Falling Versus the Fear of Falling Apart

It wasn’t until two months later when Adam was in the middle of a meeting with 19 Entertainment that his phone buzzed in the pocket of his jeans. Thoroughly set on ignoring it as he did regularly nowadays, he pressed the end button without looking.

A few hours later he escaped to the bathroom. After splashing cool water on his face he absently checked his phone, expecting to see a missed call from his mother. The name on the screen, however, caught him completely off guard.

_Kris’s Cell_

His heart lodged itself in his throat and his hands shook so badly the phone fell and clattered against the floor. His fingers itched to press the call key, but his pride was stronger and the stubborn part of him that was still raw and wounded picked up the cell and hurled it into the tiled wall.

  
**April 22, 2010**

Adam spent three weeks nursing his wounds, hiding in bed with a bottle of Jack Daniels and communicating in one word texts only when absolutely necessary. After falling asleep twice on the bathroom floor, hugging the base of the toilet in a drunken haze, he decided his method of dealing with things was doing more harm than good.

Instead, he decided to throw himself into his music - promoting his album, making appearances, preparing for tour and catering to the label’s every whim.

Adam made it abundantly clear to 19E that he would no longer attend events alongside Kris Allen. He attributed his new demand to his desire to step away from the Idol stigma and establish himself as just an artist - not 'the runner-up'. He refused to answer questions dealing with Kris or the scandalized crush. The label was quick to oblige, as they'd already voiced their opinion on the matter long before, and the offers to appear together or speak about their relationship were repeatedly turned down until they eventually stopped coming in altogether.

He threw himself into the second album, despite the label assuring him he’d earned a break and preferring he used the time to prepare for tour. But Adam wanted to write, which was something he’d always struggled with. For the first time, he needed to get the words and thoughts out of his head and music seemed the only way to do it.

He spent entire weeks at a time in the studio, sometimes forgetting to even eat or bathe. Mostly, his cell phone remained off and he despised the flicker of hope that ignited every time he flicked it on, serving only to be extinguished when it chirped voice mail alerts from only his family and occasionally a friend, though rarely, as he’d taken to forcefully pushing them away.

It was during one of these particular bouts of self-imposed seclusion that a sharp knock on the studio door tore him out of a writing session. Irritated by the interruption, he pulled the door open angrily, only to be met with a familiar set of eyes and features that ghosted his own in likeness.

"Hey big brother."

Adam deflated, feeling the tension leave his shoulders as he backed away, granting Neil access into the room. He said nothing as he closed the door, watching from the corner of his eye as his brother surveyed the space. He wasn’t particularly surprised. Neil had been calling him for almost two months and leaving voice mails daily, in varying degrees of annoyance. It was only a matter of time before he came looking for him, and maybe, subconsciously, that was what Adam had hoped.

They didn't speak, even after Adam crossed the studio and sunk down onto the brown slip-covered couch that had been his bed over the past four nights, and really, the past four months if he was being honest. He propped his feet up on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles and watching the untied shoelaces of his boots flop down over the scatter of notebook papers and post-its scribbled with discarded lyrics.

Neil jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and sighed, staring into the glass recording space. When he spoke it was quiet, yet firm as he watched Adam’s reflection in the glass.

"What's going on with you?"

Adam stiffened slightly, a deep crease forming above his brow, but almost as quickly as it had appeared, he smoothed it, leaning back deeper into the cushions of the couch and shrugging.

"Trying to put out another album," he answered coolly, jiggling his foot so that his boot tapped rhythmically against the table.

Slowly, Neil turned and sighed, smiling weakly as he nodded.

"And how's that going?"

Something cold and hard flashed before Adam's cerulean irises, making them appear icy and harsh. His hands balled into fists at his sides and he pressed them down into the couch.

"Fine."

"Really?" Neil challenged. "Can I hear a track?"

Adam lifted a significant eyebrow as his lips pressed into a thin, tight line. He shook his head sharply, jiggling his foot faster so that the sound of his black boot against the table came in a steady, rapid series of taps.

"C'mon. How about something you're working on? A line, a bridge, anything?"

Again, Adam shook his head. His eyes flamed, though his face remained stony and expressionless.

Neil ran a hand through his hair and laughed, but it was humorless.

"What are you doing, Adam? Really?"

Adam uncrossed his legs and righted his feet on the floor. He leaned forward and pressed his hands together, dipping his head so that his nose rested against his thumbs.

“Because I don’t really think you are making an album,” Neil continued, his voice louder, but softer somehow. “I think you’re hiding and I think you’re hurting and I think you’re terrified because you can’t string together two lines of lyrics.”

Adam made a strangled sound and in one swift motion flung his arm out, sweeping it across the table and sending papers and empty cups and takeout containers flying. Neil flinched but stood his ground, watching Adam rub his hands roughly against his face. Then he took a deep breath and pushed on.

“And that’s fine. If you never sang another song again in your life, we’d still love you. You’re family. We’re just worried. Mom’s freaking out and Dad says you won’t return their calls. I know you aren’t returning mine. And you’re fucking lucky you’re holed up in New York, because I was sure as shit not trekking all the way to LA to kick your ass into gear.”

Finally, Adam looked up, revealing red-rimmed, puffy eyes and wet cheeks. He looked tired and defeated and…human. Neil sighed and smiled, shaking his head as he crossed the room and sank down onto the couch next to his brother. He placed a hand gently on his shoulder and Adam leaned into it slightly, sniffing and wiping away smudges of eyeliner with his thumb. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Neil spoke again.

“So, mom says you turned down Idol. You’re really hell-bent on fulfilling that diva role aren’t you?”

Adam sighed and shrugged.

“I don’t want to do it.”

“Yes,” Neil nodded. “Ok, and I don’t want to pay taxes, but it‘s my duty to give back as an American.”

Adam laughed dryly.

“I won’t go to prison for blowing off an Idol performance.

“No, but when your label and your fans drop you on your entitled ass, you’ll be lucky if you can afford more than a tacky orange jumpsuit.”

“Oh, so I should do it for the money?” Adam quipped, smirking slightly.

Neil sighed.

“Stop being factitious.”

“Stop being an ass.”

They stared at each other for a moment, a silent challenge, before both bursting out into laughter and shaking their heads.

Adam was more relieved than anything that it looked like Neil wouldn’t be pushing the issue. Honestly, turning down the invitation to play at this year’s American Idol top three results show had felt horrible. Adam was never one to forget his roots or snub the people who had helped him get to where he was today. It hurt him to disappoint his fans, but he was a coward, and fear was a very persuasive emotion.

He had not been the only one invited back for the results show.

Kris would also be performing.

The memories alone would have been torturous, but to have Kris be so close, after so long, in such an emotionally charged setting was more than Adam could bear to even think about let alone consider. He was sure declining the invite would garner more negative press, but that was an almost pleasurable consequence in comparison.

Neil cleared his throat and picked up one of the few takeout containers still standing on the coffee table. Slowly, he peered inside, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“Now, what the fuck is this?”

Adam snorted with laughter and nudged Neil in the ribs with his elbow.

“It’s Thai.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“It’s a week old.”

Neil groaned and tossed the container back on the table as though he had been burned. Adam laughed so hard, he doubled over, burying his head in his hands until tears, new tears, cleansing tears, sprung to his eyes. By that point Neil was hunched over too and the sounds of their laughter echoed in the small room.

“So, why don’t we get something to eat?” Neil said, wiping at his eyes with a sigh. “Something fresh,” he added, shuddering as he gazed over at the discarded Thai container.

Adam hesitated for a moment then nodded in agreement. He braced his palms against his knees and stood.

“Maybe I should just clean up first,” he said sheepishly, looking at the mess on the floor first and then down at his rumpled three day old clothes.

“Good idea. I’m going to go outside and call mom. She’ll be relieved to know you’re not dead or strung out.”

“You’re not going to help me?” Adam asked, motioning at the mess of papers and plastic containers.

Neil paused then shook his head.

“Nope. You’ve got fifteen, Rockstar. I’ll wait in the lobby.”

“Are you sure pizza is okay?” Neil teased, pulling a slice of the extra cheese pie onto his paper plate. “I know they don’t have Perrier here, but the Sprite is from the gun which is awesome. It‘s unacceptable that they expect me to pull my own napkins out of the dispenser though. Do they not know I‘m with Adam Lambert?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Adam laughed, mouth full of pizza, which he provided Neil with a generous view of.

“Lovely. It’s obvious why everyone finds you so attractive.”

Adam rolled his eyes and shoved a piece of crust into his mouth.

It was actually a perfect place. Sure, Adam didn’t mind getting dressed up and hitting a chic sushi place in The Hills, but it was nice to tuck away into a tiny pizzeria and not have to contend with a hundred pairs of eyes and hands and high pitched squeals.

“So, talk to me. Why the starving artist façade, sleeping on couches and opting not to shower?”

“I shower,” Adam mumbled indignantly, pushing his straw around in his drink.

Neil lifted an eyebrow, but decided to leave that argument where it stood and tackle something else instead.

“So, are you really actually working on an album?”

“Yes,” Adam answered, rolling his eyes. “Working.”

Nodding, Neil pushed his plate out of the way so he could lean forward with his arms on the table.

“And that’s going…?”

“Well.”

“Uh huh. And Kris has to be working on his second album now too, right?”

Adam stared down at his plate and swallowed.

“I guess.”

“You guess?” Neil pushed, drumming his fingers on the table. “Didn’t you help each other out a lot on the first albums?”

“Yeah.”

Neil leaned back in the booth and crossed his arms over his chest.

“He’s actually having a bitch of a time putting out his album too.”

When Adam’s head snapped up, his hands shaking beneath the table, Neil wasn’t looking at him.

“How do you know that?” He had wanted to sound cool and disinterested, but his voice came out in an unsteady, accusatory tone.

Neil shrugged and sipped his drink, slowly, making Adam squirm. He hated the way his stomach flipped, the taste of pizza on his tongue making him feel sick. After four and a half months of hardening his exterior and burying his pain, he felt transparent and weak, even more so then the tragic night he’d left Kris in the backyard. Suddenly, Adam felt exhausted.

“Neil,” he whispered, pulling himself out of the sobering realization that the past six months had been a complete and utter waste of effort, “please.”

Sighing, Neil jabbed his ice with his straw, then looked up apologetically.

“I called him. About a month ago. No one knew what was going on with you, and I figured if anyone had a clue, it would be Kris.”

“You-you called Kris?” Adam was having trouble processing the information. His brain buzzed, fuzzy, like static on a radio station. “You talked to him?”

Neil nodded and scratched the back of his neck, obviously treading slowly, carefully. He cleared his throat and Adam’s jaw clenched and unclenched as he waited.

“I did,” Neil said simply.

Adam shook his head and his bottom lip disappeared behind his teeth. Inside, a war was waging. Four and a half months of attempting to move on had done nothing but serve to bring him down, yet he had to admit that the pain wasn’t as sharp. He’d be lying if he said it had dulled, but as long as he focused on something, anything, other than Kris, it was lessened. But another, stronger part was mocking him. It spoke the harsh, cruel words that shattered the wall Adam had carefully constructed to keep himself from completely falling over the edge. The voice was familiar, but it wasn’t his own. It was soft and sad with the slightest hint of Southern twang. Pretending doesn’t mean the feelings go away. That’s why it’s called pretending.

“And?” Adam blurted out, because he needed something to cover the voice in his head, to distract him from the words that terrified him because they were true.

“He said he couldn’t help me. He said he hadn’t heard from you in months. I was worried about you, so I pushed. I wanted to know exactly how long it had been since he was in contact with you…how long you’d been shutting yourself out.”

The pizza in Adam’s stomach had turned to lead, the weight of it holding him down against the bench. He sat completely still, waiting for what would come next; knowing what would come next, but completely unprepared to revisit the memory. Neil, however, continued on.

“Turns out, he admitted he hasn’t spoken to you since the new year.”

Adam could feel Neil’s eyes studying him, watching him for a reaction, for something that would provide the answers or the missing piece of the thoroughly fucked up puzzle. But Adam’s perceptions were wrong. Neil didn’t need anything.

“And, see, I knew you guys we’re together over New Years. I figured there was a fight. Hell, I expected one eventually, with all the media pressure and comparisons and everything. But he told me something else, something I didn’t expect. Turns out him and Katy are calling it quits. He filed for divorce in March.”

Adam’s hands shook so badly, he knocked over his cup, which was thankfully empty, but sent ice clattering across the table and floor. He fumbled with the cubes around him, picking them up with unsteady fingers and dropping back in the cup.

Neil watched, his face somewhat sad.

“It takes at least six months through the state of California, but she’s already moved out and things seem pretty permanent.”

Unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words, Adam just nodded. A steady stream of questions ricocheted around his head, all culminating in one, huge, unanswered ‘why?’ When something did slip out, it wasn’t any of the more pressing ones.

“California?”

“Yeah, him and Katy moved out there in February. I guess they thought getting out of his parent’s place might help things. I don’t know. Adam, why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you tell someone what was going on?”

Adam stared down at the table, running his fingers along the edge as he contemplated how to respond. The truth was that he didn’t want to call anyone. He didn’t want to talk about it or to relive it or to think about it. It wasn’t about not trusting Neil or feeling uncomfortable or anything like that. If Kris could go back and pretend that nothing had happened, Adam had been determined to do the same.

But, something did happen, and he found out fairly quickly that there was no way to go back. There was no life before Kris, not that Adam could remember, anyway. And so, he floundered. He gave a valiant effort, hell-bent on keeping any song that reminded him of Kris off the album, except he soon realized he was rejecting every song pitch that came his way. It all reminded him of Kris - ballads, upbeat pop, glam rock. Music and Kris Allen became a single, intricately intertwined entity and it terrified him to think about a life without either. And so, he didn’t. He hid out and hoped things would right themselves.

“When are you heading back to LA?” Neil asked, interrupting Adam’s thoughts.

Adam shrugged.

He had been planning on flying back at the end of the week, but knowing Kris was in California made him irrationally paranoid. Sure, the state was enormous and the odds of running into each other were slim, but they both frequented the same studios so it wouldn’t be shocking.

He sighed heavily. He hated being this person. He hated being ruled by fear, pathetically hiding out on the other side of the country. He hated who he was without Kris. He hated what he’d become because of Kris.

“Alright.” Neil reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open and gripped a wad of cash, which he tossed down onto the middle of the table. “Why don’t you stay with me for a few days, okay? I‘ve got a futon with your name on it. Literally. It‘s the one we used to keep in the guest room. Remember when you went through that stage trying to perfect your autograph for when you got famous?”

“Yes.” Adam smiled. “But you don’t. You were what? Five?”

“Shut up. Just fucking say yes.”

Adam laughed, but didn’t answer, and Neil seemed to sense his hesitation.

“Consider it payback. You owe me now.” He nodded towards the bills on the table with a smirk.

“You paid for a pizza and a few sodas. If eighteen bucks is the price of my soul, I’ll get the bill.”

Neil rolled his eyes.

“Dramatic much? A few nights at your brother’s is hardly the equivalent of selling your soul, Mr. American Idol.”

“Fine. But I swear to god if you fuck with me in my sleep, we’re done.”

Adam was actually relieved and thankful for the offer, though it was his duty as the older brother to give Neil a hard time. He figured staying at Neil’s would beat the hell out of the lumpy studio couch, not to mention the extra distraction he was sure to add. Finally feeling relaxed enough to move, he slid out from the booth and pulled on his jacket. Neil did the same, cringing slightly.

“Uh, you’re going to need to get the tip.”

Adam shook his head, but pulled a wad of bills out of his jacket pocket and tossed them down next to Neil’s contribution. It would definitely be an interesting arrangement if nothing else.

Neil’s apartment was everything Adam expected it to be - sensible, secondhand furniture, half-finished restorations and newspaper clippings scattered across every surface. It was messy, but not dirty and teeming with books and journals and political magazines that Adam would have rather been forced to eat then actually read. The front door stuck and everything in his freezer came in microwaveable plastic dishes, but it was Neil’s and somehow that made Adam feel at ease.

On his first night in the guestroom, on the old futon he did in fact scrawl his name on with black Sharpie marker at age seven, he woke up at four in the morning to find his fingers resting in a bowl of lukewarm water. Rather than getting angry, he found himself laughing, albeit a bit manically. It was a real, genuine feeling of amusement, and after that he relaxed just a little bit more.

Adam didn’t get much more sleep than he’d been getting on the uncomfortable couch in the studio, but it had less to do with the incessantly burning hurt, and much more to do with the prank war that had been launched.

During the day they went their separate ways - Adam off to meetings and studio sessions and choreography classes and Neil off, well, doing whatever it was he did all day. In the evenings they ordered takeout and drank cheap wine and confessed their childhood secrets. They argued over everything, the dispute usually culminating in a Google search and a victory lap around the living room for the winner.

Adam was finally feeling like himself again; shedding a few of the walls he’d constructed over the past months and smiling without a depressing amount of force. Slowly, his guard fell and the anger and resentment bubbled down until it was reduced to something much more mild. Somewhere along the line, he stopped being furious with Kris and started missing him - just missing him. As surprisingly awesome as hanging out with Neil had proven, it was serving merely to fill a larger hole, a void that was no longer patched with rage and hurt and wounded pride. It was a particularly warm night, in which they were substituting refreshing Mojitos in place of boxed pink wine, when Adam finally decided to share some of his burden. They were sitting on the rooftop of the apartment, silently staring out over the buildings and people and cars, Central Park a green expanse off in the distance.

“I screwed up,” Adam said, flicking a mint leaf off the rim of his glass. “I really screwed up.”

Neil didn’t say anything. He quietly sipped his drink, sensing the importance of his silence, lest Adam curl back in on himself and shut down again. He was nothing if not incredibly perceptive and although Adam knew he was waiting and listening intently, he continued staring out over the city as though he hadn’t heard a word.

“I had it all. Everything was going perfect and I guess I got greedy. Or stupid. I sabotaged myself and I almost brought Kris down with me. Maybe I did. I wouldn’t know seeing as how I haven’t spoken to him in,” he paused and sighed, “one-hundred-and-twenty-four days.”

It was quiet for a moment before Neil sighed and stood. He walked over to the short concrete wall surrounding the roof and leaned against it with his back to Adam.

“You must not have had it all if you were still wanting more. It isn’t selfish to want things, Adam. Just because you have it better than some doesn’t mean you lost your entitlement to happiness.”

Adam shrugged.

“I was happier before giving in to the wanting.”

“Ok,” Neil said, spinning around. “Maybe that’s so, but Christ, Adam, it’s done. Whatever you did, or didn’t do, it happened. Get the fuck over it. Learn from it. Move on. You have to make do with what you’re given. It’s life - some assembly required. If you lose some pieces, find new pieces. Just stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re giving me a fucking complex.”

Adam braced himself for the anger he was sure would result from Neil’s blunt realism, but it didn’t come. The truth of it was that he was right. Adam was stuck in a self-imposed depression and wallowing in regrets caused by situations he would never be given the chance to go back and change. He wasn’t moving forward, he was simply sidestepping everything that came his way.

“I don’t know how to make this right,” Adam breathed, wondering where Kris might be right now at this very moment in time. It seemed impossible to imagine him sitting on his own roof, staring out over the city and wondering if Adam was wondering about him too.

“No one does.” Neil shrugged and peered into his empty glass. “If you knew what the hell to do, you wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place. Then again I wouldn’t have had your freeloading ass on my futon all week, and, shockingly, it’s been kind of nice.”

Adam grinned wide and Neil returned it before draining the rest of his drink and turning back around to look out over the city. Adam did the same, though he wasn’t seeing the towering skyscrapers and mobbed crosswalks and hundreds of yellow taxis that Neil was seeing. Adam was seeing Kris - Kris backstage, struggling to privately practice the group number choreography - Kris in front of a sold out arena, glancing to the wings for Adam’s comforting nod - Kris’s eyes staring up at the ceiling, his head tilted back as he twisted his fingers in Adam’s hair. These thoughts, these memories, these fragmented imprints Kris had left on his life hurt, but not because they’d once existed, but rather because they no longer did. The sobering pain was no longer attributed to the choices they had made in the past. It was no longer a black, bottomless anger. Adam was now mourning. He was missing Kris’s lopsided grin, the way he shifted back and forth on his feet when he was nervous, the way he absently strummed his guitar when he was deep in thought. He missed their easy conversation and their teasing and their unwavering support of each other’s endeavors, however insane or ludicrous.

He missed Kris.

And, yes, the feeling of Kris’s warm skin underneath his fingertips was amazing. And, yes, the way Kris softly pressed his lips against his, testing before leaning in further and fully committing himself to the kiss, was unparalleled in intensity to any physical act Adam had ever experienced. And, yes, if Adam never got to experience the sting of Kris’s fingernails clawing desperately into his shoulder again, it would be a significant loss, but those actions were fleeting and unimportant in the scheme of things. It was the emotions, the reasons those things had occurred that made Adam miss Kris.

It was their trust in each other. It was the fact that they believed in each other more than anyone else possibly could. It was that they cared about each other completely, enough to show up unannounced, enough to step out of their comfort zones. They were invested in each other’s happiness and were interested in each other’s lives and hopes and fears and dreams.

What had happened on New Year’s Eve was a manifestation of these feelings. They loved each other, and perhaps it was in different ways, but the fact remained. And Adam loved Kris enough to admit if friendship was all Kris could offer him, he would take it. Hell, he’d beg for it.

That night, after they went inside, Adam opted for iced tea over another cocktail. Neil busted his balls over it, but he didn’t mind. He was tired of numbing himself, tired of trying to drown out his feelings and his regrets. It was all an illusion. The alcohol helped him pretend, but pretending…pretending didn’t mean it never happened.

“Damn it, Neil!”

“Screw you. Learn to drive!” Neil fired back, wiping his free hand on his shirt. “You got any napkins in here?”

“Glove compartment,” Adam seethed through clenched teeth. He knew it wasn’t his brother’s fault, but the thought of hot coffee splashing across his beautiful black interior was requiring all his self-control to keep his anger in check.

It was Tuesday. The previous night had marked Adam’s eleventh, and final, at Neil’s apartment. He was on his way to a meeting at 19’s New York offices and had agreed to drop his brother off at the movie set where he had found a temporary job filling in. Of course, despite being late, Neil had insisted on stopping at one of the hundreds of Starbucks that peppered every seven feet of the city, reminding Adam of how graciously he had played host these past two weeks when Adam complained.

Tonight, Adam was flying down to Miami to attend a private event. He was glad to be regaining some semblance of his routine back, but he had to admit he was going to really miss his brother…as long as he didn’t kill him first.

Beside him, Neil grumbled and pulled the glove compartment open. Focused on the traffic around them, it was only from the corner of his eye that Adam saw something gold tumble out.

He jammed on the brakes so hard more coffee sloshed over the side of the cup onto Neil’s lap.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Adam? Seriously?”

But as Neil twisted in his seat to give Adam a few more choice words, he froze.

Adam hands were grasping the wheel so tightly, his knuckles were white. His jaw was clenched and his lips were pressed into a line, his nostrils flaring as he stared straight out the windshield.

“What?“ Neil asked as he watched Adam’s chest rise and fall dramatically. “Adam, what?”

Adam didn’t know how to respond. As he stared down the street, he didn’t see buildings or pedestrians or asphalt. All he saw was Kris. All he heard were the promises made over a stupid piece of ribbon off a champagne bottle.

After his epiphany on the roof, he had decided that he was going to make things right with Kris…soon. But suddenly, soon wasn’t enough. In that moment, pretending was no longer an option.

Kris had been right, they couldn’t go back, ever, but maybe they could still go forward, together. All this time, Adam had been stuck, blinded by the means instead of focusing on the end. HOW was he going to fix things? WHEN was he going to talk to Kris? WHAT did he plan on saying?

Those were details that could be figured out later. They were unimportant. The fact was that maybe just being there, just trying, could be enough. If nothing else, it would be a start.

“I need to go to L.A.,” Adam breathed, releasing the steering wheel suddenly.

“What?”

“L.A.,” Adam repeated, turning his head to look at Neil. “The show. I’m going to do the show.”

Neil stared at him, unblinking.

“Idol. I’m going to do Idol.” He said it calmly and matter-of-factly, as though it was a completely sane and rational decision, though the epiphany was anything but.

“Isn’t the show-?” Neil started, patting at his lap absently with the napkins while still looking at Adam.

“Tonight.”

“Ah, hah.”

“I’ve got time,” Adam said, his voice slightly strained. “I’ve got-,” he glanced down at the dashboard, “Seven hours. Sound check is at four.”

“Ten,” Neil corrected, his lips hinting at a smile. “You’ve got ten hours. You‘re not accounting for the time change.”

Adam’s wild, desperate eyes softened and he grinned, nodding triumphantly.

“I should drop you off at work.”

Neil laughed and shook his head.

“Are you kidding me? I’m coming to the airport. Someone has to make sure the Mustang gets safely back to California. I think ‘rowdy crowd of 20-somethings’ will survive without me for the day.”

Adam winced at the mention of his car then smirked.

“I thought you told mom you were writing on set.”

“I am. In between takes.”

Adam laughed, loud and fully, then leaned to the side, across Neil’s lap and grabbed the gold ribbon off the passenger side floor mat. Neil watched silently as he shrugged and shoved the trimming in his front pocket. Then, with another nod and a laugh, he pulled a sharp U-turn and headed towards JFK. Another slosh of coffee overflowed into Neil’s lap and with a sigh he rolled down the window and threw the Styrofoam cup out.

Getting a ticket had been more difficult than Adam anticipated and he was thankful to have Neil along. Apparently just ‘being Adam Lambert’ didn’t make empty seats appear nor grant airplanes the ability to immediately take off the runway. It did, however, award him a mob of screaming females following his every step and occasionally entering his personal space, again giving him a reason to be thankful for Neil‘s presence. His PR team wasn’t helping matters or calling in any favors either. They were pissed he had blown off his meeting and was giving them the runaround with the American Idol appearance.

Yes, he was going.

No, he wouldn’t be performing.

Yes, it was last minute.

No, he hadn’t lost his mind.

Luckily, Neil was savvy and knew a thing or two about catching a flight. Adam, especially recently, was only versed in showing up at the airport when his management told him to, and boarding appropriately. Neil was able to get him on standby, and then a particularly gracious forty-something year old from Pittsburgh with a lisp gave up her spot ahead of him in return for an autograph and a hug.

When the woman at the gate finally told an extremely anxious Adam he could board, he almost bolted. Everything was coming to a head and the moment of truth loomed in the not so distant future. He hesitated, rocking back on his heels, but Neil knowingly placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, grounding him.

And so, they stood in the middle of the airport, Adam clutching his ticket and shifting anxiously from one foot to the other while his little brother silently gave him the confidence to do what needed to be done. He wanted to thank Neil for everything, but he wasn’t sure he could without getting sappy and emotional. They’d always gotten along well enough, but their relationship had never been particularly affectionate. Adam cleared his throat, but Neil was speaking before he had a chance to get any words out.

“You should crash on my couch again sometime. You know, if you ever need someone to put you back in your place again. It was nice having you cover takeout.”

Adam grinned and nodded.

“Yeah, next time I need to feel better about my life, I’ll stop by.”

“Ouch,” Neil hissed, clutching his chest dramatically.

They both laughed and when it died down again, Neil made a show of looking at his watch.

“You better get going.”

Adam shook his head and then, with a sharp inhale of breath, pulled Neil into a hug. They didn’t linger, just a few meaningful pats on the back, and when they broke apart, they exchanged nods of understanding. With a smile he hoped relayed his thanks, Adam turned, still gripping his ticket tightly between his fingers, and headed through the gate.

  
“Thanks,” Adam mumbled as he tossed a handful of bills at the driver. “Keep the change.”

He had no idea how much he had handed over, just that it was far more than necessary for the short drive from the airport terminal to the studio. He didn’t have time for exacts, although he hesitated slightly before pushing open the car door and stumbling out.

The plane ride had been excruciating. Time seemed to standstill, and then all at once zoom forward. The flight itself felt as though it had taken weeks, but once they touched down on the runway it was all too soon. Adam had to fight to remove his fingers from the arm rests and force his legs to push him into a standing position, waiting until the plane was almost empty. He was certain he had either had - or would soon have - a heart attack given the amount of time his heart had been careening erratically around in his chest. Though, try as he might to calm down, his anxiousness would not be quelled.

As the car pulled away, he wiped his sweaty palms against the front of his jeans. Looking up at the large studio building, his chest felt heavy and his head felt light. The realization that Kris was in there, only a few feet away, made his stomach flip. He swallowed, set his jaw and marched forward, forcing his black-booted feet to take a step and then another until he was moving away from the curb and towards the doors.

He was inhaling and exhaling rapidly when he pushed through the heavy blue door near the back of the studio. The contrast of the bright California sun and dark backstage area made him squint as he waited for his eyes to adjust. The black, shadowy figures were just beginning to become clear when a woman in a headset walked up, tapping a clipboard and staring at him in disbelief.

“Mr. Lambert? We didn’t think you were coming. We didn’t-we aren’t…the set and the show…it isn’t-”

Adam held up a hand to silence her and her mouth snapped shut as she glanced nervously down at the clipboard and then back up to his face.

“I’m not performing tonight. I’m just…here,” he said, smiling. “I’m here for a friend.”

“Oh,” she said, visibly relaxing. “Fine. Alright then.” And with that she turned and left, hurrying off to attend to her pre-show duties.

With a quiet laugh, Adam remembered the busy, frantic atmosphere present before American Idol tapings nostalgically and headed towards the dressing rooms. He knew the way well, his feet had walked down this stretch of concrete many times. He couldn’t help but smile as he remembered them.

So much had changed over the past year.

So much had stayed the same.

“Mr. Lambert?”

A second clipboard holding, headset wearing woman stopped him, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Not performing. Just visiting,” Adam quickly supplied and she nodded, again looking quiet relieved.

She was just about to hurry past him on her way when Adam reached out and grabbed her shoulder.

“Hey, do you know what room Kris Allen is in?”

Her eyes widened slightly before she looked down at her clipboard.

“204. Big one at the end.”

Adam nodded and thanked her before continuing down the hall, not noticing that the woman, who had been in quite a rush, was now frozen, watching his back as he walked away. Then again, not much of anything made Adam’s notice. He knew the room in question. He knew the door. What he didn’t know, was what awaited him behind it.

All too soon, the gold emblazoned 204 was visible and the distance between himself and Kris was inexplicitly shorter than it had been twenty-four hours ago. His throat had all but closed and he could swear he was actually wheezing to get a breath, but his feet brought him right up to the door. He knew better than to give himself time to psych himself out. He’d come all this way. He wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t prolonging this.

He knocked.

The sound of his knuckles against the wooden door was deafening. His breath caught somewhere mid-inhale and his lungs stuttered. His jaw tightened, his heart stopped and the nerves in his legs tingled as his knees threatened to give out. He swallowed hard and his tongue felt thick and pasty as he ran it over his dry lips.

And then the door was pulled open.

For a split second, everything stopped. Adam was positive the blood in his veins momentarily ceased flowing as time lapsed. Kris’s eyes widened, his mouth left slack-jawed in surprise as he stared at Adam in disbelief.

He looked exactly as Adam remembered him, and for a second he had to remind himself that it had only been a few months since they’d seen each other, not the eternity that it felt like. His hair was fluffy and expertly styled in perfect imperfection. He wore a pair of snug, dark blue jeans and a white t-shirt beneath a trademark green plaid button up.

Adam blinked and exhaled and ran a shaky hand through his hair, wondering momentarily how he looked. He hadn’t been in front of a mirror since early this morning at Neil’s and he was sure the impromptu trip left him looking more than a little disheveled.

“Adam?” Kris breathed, his voice barely audible.

With a small smile, Adam shrugged, searching for his voice.

“Hi,” was the best he could managed before Kris stepped back, holding the door open allowing him to pass.

“I didn’t think you were coming. I heard you weren’t performing,” Kris said, closing the door quietly. He hesitated before spinning around to face Adam who was running his fingers absently down the back of the white couch in the middle of the room.

“I wasn’t. I mean, I’m not.” Adam’s eyes flashed up to Kris’s. “I’m just…here.”

Kris nodded slowly as the weight of Adam’s words sunk in and he ran a hand over his chin as he leaned back against the door.

“It’s been awhile,” Kris said slowly.

“I know.” Adam felt his heart race. Maybe it had been too long.

“You should have come earlier.”

They both knew Kris wasn’t talking about today or Adam’s last minute trip to the studio. He was talking about in general. He was talking about the past five months.

But as the sting of Kris’s words faded, Adam realized, indignantly, that he was far from the only one to blame. Fueled by desperation, his eyes narrowed.

“You could have come, too.”

“I did,” Kris bit back and Adam reeled back, hit off guard by his unexpected declaration.

“What?” Adam’s eyebrows knit in confusion and his lips barely parted to let the question out.

Kris closed his eyes and pushed himself away from the door. He moved over to the table against the wall to his right and plucked up his cell phone.

“I called you when I got to L.A.,” he said, waving his phone back and forth. “I was outside your place. Your car wasn’t there. I guess you weren’t around.” He tossed the cell back down with a clatter and cleared his throat before adding, “you didn’t call back.”

Adam chewed on his bottom lip as the memory of Kris’s call surfaced clearly in his head. He remembered seeing his name splayed across his cell phone’s display as a missed call. He’d had to swing by a Verizon store after the meeting to pick up a new phone that afternoon. It was not one of his proudest moments, but he had never in a million years suspected that Kris was sitting outside his house in West Hollywood. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his thoughts.

“I didn’t know you were in Cali,” Adam offered. It wasn’t an excuse or an explanation, but it was the best he could do right now.

Predictably, Kris shrugged, letting him off the hook. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Adam felt his stomach lurch and he dug his black polish-coated fingernails into the back of the couch, thinking of what to say next.

“You talked to Neil.” It was a statement rather than a question, but Adam wanted to make it clear that he knew some of the things Kris had been going through, namely the divorce, without coming out and saying so. He knew it was a cop out, but he didn’t have the balls to be outright.

“Yeah,” answered Kris, being equally evasive. “I did.”

It was silent then as they both took turns looking at each other and then away, caught in limbo between truth and self-preservation.

Adam didn’t know exactly what to say. He didn’t want to apologize, because he wasn’t particularly sorry. He didn’t really regret anything that had happened, besides the fact that he had made himself completely unavailable to Kris. He was sorry that he’d let things get to this point.

“Kris, I’m-” he started, but Kris shook his head sharply and closed his eyes.

“Don’t. You don’t have to do that, Adam.”

Adam could feel panic begin to settle in his chest, because he did have to do this. He needed to make things right. He needed to say something to fix them, to close the rift that had formed between them.

“Wait, listen. Please.” He knew he sounded desperate and the slight whine in his voice was pathetic at best, but he didn’t care anymore.

This time Kris didn’t stop him. He stared at him from across the room with tired eyes that only Adam would be able to recognize, his forehead creased with concentration and fatigue as he jammed his hands into his pockets and waited silently.

“Kris, I-”

A sharp knock at the door caused them both to jump and while Kris laughed nervously at their ridiculousness as he made to open it, Adam cursed under his breath.

When Kris pulled open the door, the woman in the headset that Adam had met in the hallway stood in the doorway, clipboard still in hand.

“You’re needed on set,” she said hurriedly, her eyes lingering on Adam before snapping back to Kris. “Now.”

Kris nodded and glanced over his shoulder apologetically at Adam.

“I have to go.”

Adam felt his entire body slump as he swallowed and nodded slowly. He wished there was something he could say, something short and meaningful and accurately able to express everything he was feeling in this moment - in all the moments since he’d left Arkansas on New Year’s Day.

But words were futile. He was one articulate bastard, but he knew there was simply not enough time to say what needed to be said. Kris was standing in the doorway looking torn, the woman in the headset shifting impatiently from one foot to the other as she waited.

Suddenly, Adam’s pulse quickened. Maybe he didn’t need to say anything.

He shoved his hands in his back pockets, searching, panicking when he felt nothing but denim. He held his breath and tried the front pockets, letting the air out of his lungs in a whoosh when he felt the object in question against his fingers. He pulled it out and wrapped his fist around it, taking a step forward towards Kris.

When he was an arm’s length away, he reached out, flattening his palm, his eyes trained to Kris’s face.

Kris audibly sucked in a breath as he looked down at the gold ribbon sitting coiled on Adam’s outstretched hand. His jaw tightened as he slowly looked up to meet Adam’s gaze, neither of them blinking.

“We really need you now,” the woman with the headset hissed, obviously oblivious to the weight of the moment. It took all of Adam’s self-control not to tell her where she could put that clipboard.

Kris, however, lifted his shoulders half-heartedly and cleared his throat, his eyes unwavering as they bore into Adam’s.

“Take it,” Adam whispered, unable to project his voice any louder.

Kris shook his head, tilting it to the side and biting his bottom lip.

“Take it. Please.”

Again, Kris shook his head, this time reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

Adam could feel his heart breaking. It was splitting over the old cracks he’d shoddily mended with avoidance and alcohol. He’d been foolish to think a quick fix could make him whole. He was unraveling at the seams and if Kris didn’t take this god damn ribbon from him right now, he was going to fall apart.

“Kris,” he pleaded, lifting his palm.

“Adam, keep it. Just…keep it, okay? Please?”

Adam made an undignified hiccupping noise in the back of his throat as he tried to ignore the curious glares from the woman in the headset who was all but tapping her toe. He let his eyes fall to the floor; his arm beginning to burn, though he refused to drop it and admit defeat.

“Adam.”

Something about the tone of Kris’s voice caused him to look up.

“Adam, please. Trust me, alright?”

It seemed like an odd thing to say in this situation, but Adam swallowed and slowly pulled his arm back close his body. He didn’t understand, but he was hardly in a position to argue. Despite it all, he did trust Kris, and it was enough to keep his impending hysterics at bay.

Kris nodded and offered a tight smile before turning and heading out the door, following the headset wearing woman down the hallway.

Adam didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to feel or what to think. What he did know was that being left alone in this room to his own devices would be disastrous. He couldn’t just sit here and stew and hypothesize and drive himself crazy. With a quick glance around the room, he jammed the ribbon back in his pocket and walked out.

He settled into a familiar spot offstage just as Kris was walking out, guitar case in hand. The cameras swung around, panning a shot of the judges while Ryan Seacrest stood to the side, properly introducing Kris. The crowd cheered and Adam couldn’t help but grin.

Kris made his way to the center of the stage and the bright lights came on and focused over him as he placed his guitar case down on the stool provided next to the microphone. He flicked open the latches and sighed, gazing out over the hushed audience.

Adam was hit with a wave of nostalgia as he watched Kris from the wings, leaning against the stage support beams with his arms folded over his chest. A year ago, they’d been here, fighting the odds and terrified of failing, of losing everything. He supposed not much had changed really.

Kris slowly gazed out over the audience, then turned his head. When his eyes met Adam’s, they widened, then narrowed slightly as he furrowed his brows in concentration. Adam watched, mesmerized by his movements. Kris’s eyes remained riveted to Adams, their connection unbroken as he lifted the guitar up out of the case and secured the strap over his shoulder. His movements were slow and deliberate, though unnecessary, because the moment he had picked up the instrument, Adam had recognized it.

It was the guitar Adam had given Kris for Christmas; the one he’d kicked a hole through that night in January when everything fell apart. More importantly, Adam noticed the green ribbon tied at the very top of the neck of the guitar. He inhaled slowly, his vision becoming increasingly blurry and distorting the image of Kris who was now gripping the microphone and looking back in the direction of the audience. Blinking rapidly to clear the unexpected tears threatening to spill down his cheeks, Adam held his breath. He understood why Kris had asked him to trust him. He understood why Kris didn’t need his ribbon.

“Hey guys,” Kris began. “It’s really great to be back and I just want to congratulate the top three on making it this far. I was in your shoes once and I know it’s not easy, and it’s scary, and it‘s the best and worst feeling all at once. This is a dream come true. I was there. My dream came true.”

“And the cool thing about your dream coming true? It means you’ve got room for another, even bigger dream. And things don’t really ever stop being hard, or scary, but I can tell you now that it’s all worth it.” He paused and glanced offstage to where Adam stood. Their eyes locked, and Adam’s heart raced, hammering against his chest.

“Because if it wasn’t worth it, you wouldn’t be on this stage, right now, here with me - terrified, but believing that every single choice and decision you ever made in your life was leading up to this. It’s yours - the dream, the chance. If you’re willing, it’s yours.” He tore his eyes away from Adam, to the other side of the stage where the top three sat, anxiously awaiting their fate. He nodded then brought his fingers to the strings of the guitar.

When he began playing, Adam closed his eyes. Kris’s smooth vocals washed over him, but he wasn’t listening to the lyrics. The words Kris had spoken were still sinking in. Their meaning was clear, though Adam had a hard time believing they could be true. His heart was lodged in his throat as he fought the hope from overtaking him. He couldn’t handle another disappointment, another heartbreak. He wouldn’t survive it this time - no amount of alcohol or self-exile could fill a second void.

He didn’t open his eyes until Kris finished playing and the stage director announced that they were off air. When he finally willed himself to look, Kris was heading straight for him, guitar in hand.

As he reached the place where Adam stood, arms still folded protectively across his chest, he shrugged a little and worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

“How did you know I would come?” Adam asked, eyeing the thin green ribbon. The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them.

“I didn’t,” Kris sighed, placing the guitar down. “I just…it didn’t feel right. Being here without you just didn’t feel right. So, I…I just-”

He didn’t finish. He let his words trail off as he looked at the floor, rocking back on his heels. His cheeks were pink, but Adam couldn’t tell if it was from having just performed or a more recent blush.

“I don’t know. It was dumb. Despite everything, I just didn’t want to be here without you. This is where we started. Where everything started.” Kris’s eyes flashed back up, focusing into Adam’s with steely intensity. They were wide and almost fearful. It made Adam’s breath hitch, and the muscles in his arms and chest stiffened.

“It’s not dumb. I should have come. I mean, I’m here, but I should have agreed from the beginning. I was stupid and…scared,” he admitted, hanging his head shamefully. “I wouldn’t want to be here without you. I don’t want to be anywhere without you. And if we have to make rules or define boundaries or pretend or whatever, that’s fine. I’ll make it work. Because this…this not being with you…it isn’t working. Not for me.”

He wanted to turn and run, but his whole body felt heavy, rooting him to the spot. He hadn’t really meant to say all that, but the words had tumbled out.

Slowly, he lifted his head and swallowed, his heart pounding. He had no expectations, yet somehow the look on Kris’s face was something he wasn’t prepared for. He was even less prepared for Kris to step forward. The sudden close proximity forced Adam to stumble backwards until his back pressed against the rough concrete of the backstage wall.

“It isn’t working for me, either,” Kris said softly, and then took another step so that his chest ghosted against Adam’s, which was rising and falling heavily.

His heart leapt into his throat when Kris started to slowly rise up onto his toes and lean forward. Adam felt as though he might burst wide open from the pressure building in his core.

As Kris pressed himself closer, everything seemed to dim, and Adam realized his eyes were starting to close in anticipation, his lungs beginning to burn as his body demanded more oxygen. He slowly exhaled out through his nose, then sucked another breath through his mouth just as Kris’s lips pushed against his.

For a moment, neither of them moved. It was a simple kiss, just the slight pressure of their mouths pressed together, until something in Adam flicked on and he brought his hand to Kris’s face, running his thumb against the curve of his jaw. The contact seemed to kick start Kris as well and he softly drew in Adam’s bottom lip and dragged his fingers up Adam’s arms, to his neck.

Suddenly, Kris pulled away, and for a short, agonizing moment, Adam pictured his face twisted in horror and regret, but as his eyes focused into Kris’s, he saw they were soft and crinkled in a smile. Then he was leaning forward again, trailing feather light kisses down Adam’s throat, against the vein that pumped wildly there with adrenaline and fear and want.

“Kris, I’m sorry. I should have given you time…space…” Adam whispered, placing his hands flat against Kris’s chest.

“No,” Kris mumbled, taking a half a step back. “I was wrong. I was scared. The way I felt…what-what happened between us…I was scared.”

Adam nodded, running his tongue over his lips before asking the next, most important question.

“And now?”

Kris sighed, but his eyes never wavered. They were darker than Adam had ever seen them, almost obsidian in the low backstage lighting.

“I’m not. I mean, I’m still scared. About other things. About my career, about my next album,” he paused and his eyebrows lifted. “About losing you, completely. About-”

Adam wanted him to shut up. He had no reason to fear these things, any of them. And more than that, he wanted to assure him that he would never lose him, ever. He silenced him in the only way that made sense. He kissed him. He kissed him hard, crushing their lips between teeth and tongue. It was rough and desperate, nothing like the slow, timid kissing they’d shared just before.

The bottles of vodka, the nights hiding in the studio, the numbing and the avoiding and the depression and the worry - they were examples of all the ways Adam was lost without Kris. Kris thinking he could ever lose Adam - completely or otherwise - was a paradox. There was no Adam without Kris.

Adam wasn’t sure how long they stood there, wrapped up in each other, inhaling each other’s exhales, the syncopation of their heartbeats thrumming between them. He was vaguely aware of people passing by, shocked, surely, but he didn’t care and Kris didn’t seem to either.

When they did finally break away, Kris slid his hand into Adam’s larger one and intertwined their fingers together before leaning over and grabbing his guitar. He gently pulled Adam away from the wall, back down the hallway towards the dressing room, his mouth twisting into an impish grin.

It was different this time - Kris leading Adam - and Adam wondered if maybe it should have been like this from the beginning.

It was something to think about, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were both here now, together, keeping promises made over silly bits of ribbon and silently making new ones that would last them for years to come.


End file.
